WereCars of Cybertron
by Dragon of Dispair
Summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-war and pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.
1. Prologue

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though, wacky as it is.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: Prologue**

"Wha'cha watching?"

Mikaela looked up at Jazz. She and Sam were spending the night in the Autobot base. She'd thought the five of them were deep in recharge -- 'Bee certainly was, with a very asleep Sam curled up on his hood -- and didn't think there's be any harm in using thier huge TV to watch the sci-fi/horror movie marathon.

She almost apologized for waking him, but Jazz didn't look disturbed, just curious.

"_An American Werewolf in London_, " she answered.

"Werewolf..." the silver mech's visor flickered as he looked the unfamiliar word on the Internet. "Now tha's just creepy," he announced when he was done.

Mikaela assumed he was referring to the concept of werewolves in general, not the movie specifically -- he probably now knew more about werewolf mythology than she did -- and turned back to the movie, the very human horror flick more interesting than the giant alien robot for the moment. "I don't see why -- It's not that different from what you guys do."

"Exactly."

_That_ caught her attention.

"What?"

"Tha's why it's creepy."

Okay now the robot was infinitely more interesting than the old movie. "It sounds like there's a story there."

"Well sure, lil lady. But I ain't sure I'm the best one t' tell it."

Mikaela looked around the room. The only light came from the TV. 'Bee and Sam were parked next to the couch, sleeping. The doorway to the rest of the base was dark, indicating that the others were similarly occupied.

"You and I are the only ones awake," she pointed out.

"There is that." He hesitated, examining his claws for a moment. "What about your movie?"

She waved dismissively. "It's an old movie -- not nearly as interesting as hearing about alien werewolves. And you're stalling -- if you don't want to tell me, just say so."

He settled down next to the couch Mikaela occupied, waved his hand at the TV and it shut itself off. "It ain't that, lil lady -- just don't think I'm the best one t' tell it, is all. Ironhide would probably be much better."

"I don't want to wait until he wakes up. And I definitely don't want to wake him up right now."

"Can't argue with that I guess. Okay I guess I should start with saying that we couldn't always transform. Most believed the first transformer was cursed by Unicron, the chaos bringer..."

tbc

note: yeah -- jazz died in the movie. i don't care. either ignore it, or choose your favorite fannon resurrection scenario and apply it.


	2. Part One

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though, wacky as it is.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part one**

Rhythm ran like he was trying to outrace the moon.

In a way he was. He was horribly late. He needed to get to the wild roads before the Iacon Track was called to order and the challenges were issued. If he wasn't there he'd forfeit his position and Barricade, at least, would leap at the chance to take his position. Fragger didn't even want to be Track Second, he just wanted the chance to challenge Redline for the Track First position without having to go through Rhythm to do it. And Redline certainly wasn't a match for Barricade in challenge -- he kept his position because Rhythm thought he was a better leader than he would be and used his own position to protect him.

And it could all be ruined because he was late, late, late. Damn Red Alert to the Pit anyway -- the fragged police 'bot was the reason he was late.

The entire Track was there when Rhythm finally skidded into the circle of metal spires that served as the Iacon Track's moon alter. Instantly he was the center of attention. Everyone knew about Barricade's ambitions. The black and white had only been a were-car for six moon cycles and had already fought his way all the way to Third. The only thing keeping him from challenging for First and winning was Rhythm.

"Thought you weren't coming this month, Rhythm." Barricade's obnoxious growl rang out from the Third's position to the left of the First, "Were you afraid I'd tear you apart this time?"

"Only in your discarded defrag data, 'Cade," Rhythm retorted, "I could beat you with a missing tire and a broken axel."

The first moon peaked over the eastern spire and mechanisms shifted slightly, Barricade lunged, newly revealed claws aiming for Rhythm's axel, snarling "Let's test that shall we!"

Rhythm rolled to the side, avoiding the strike, then when Barricade turned to strike again, his claws tangled with the silver were-car's. A smidge of leverage, a twist and another roll and Barricade was flying back into the spectators. There was a smattering of laughter as the black and white cursed and flailed to detangle himself from the purple 'bot he'd landed on. No one helped him stand. This was a Challenge.

Barricade and Rhythm circled each other as the first moon finished rising. Barricade's optics were focused and his expression vicious. Rhythm's optics couldn't be seen behind the blue visor, but there was a slightly quirky smile on his face as the astroseconds ticked by, and he made no move to attack. Patient and amused.

Barricade seemed to realize what Rhythm was waiting for and lunged. Again his claws were caught on the other's but this time the black and white locked his claws in return so that he couldn't be thrown again. Rhythm cursed -- he knew he'd loose a strength contest with the larger mech.

They grappled, rolling on the ground, hissing, growling and cursing. Rhythm took advantage of the other tearing at his coolant lines to rake him with his foot and Barricade howled in pain when a plate of armor tore loose. Rhythm took advantage of the distraction to roll. With the silver 'bot on top, he managed to untangle his claws and swiped at red optics. Barricade blocked, got his feet between them, and this time Rhythm was the one to be sent flying.

Unlike Barricade, Rhythm twisted in midair to land in a crouch and spring back at his opponent, ploughing into him before he could regain his balance. They landed hard on the ground, Barricade on the bottom, armor along his back denting and crumpling. Rhythm tore at the 'bot's wiring.

With a snarl, Barricade grabbed the silver 'bot on top of him and rolled, pinning him.

But the black and white's luck had run out. Before he could demand Rhythm's surrender, the second moon rose, triggering the second phase of the transformation.

Few were more proficient with the second phase of transformation than Rhythm. So while Barricade, who'd been caught off guard by it couldn't move, until his parts finished rearranging themselves, Rhythm was already turning and moving, even as his legs were replaced by tires and his perceptions shifted lower, gaining a precious few seconds head start.

This was the joy of being a were -- the wind as it combed past his form, faster than he could ever think of running in his legged form. He nearly lost himself in the feel of the road under his tires, only to have the growl of Barricade's engine behind him remind him that he needed to focus.

Barricade was fast, and a vicious racer using every trick to run Rhythm off the road. But Rhythm wasn't exactly a slowpoke himself, and he had vorns of experience in countering those tricks, not just from Barricade, but from every upstart who'd wanted the Second or First positions since he and Redline had won them.

Rhythm cursed and fought to stay on the road as a vicious sideswipe nearly sent him out of control. Snarling he dropped back so that his rear tire was even with Barricade's front one. An almost borderline illegal move scraped the two hubcaps together, and did send the back and white into a spin.

By the time the two racers reached the second turn, Rhythm could hear the engines of the rest of the Track pacing them on the parallel roads. The roar of the dozens of engines around him, kicked Rhythm's own engine into a higher gear and he raced to out pace them all.

He managed to brake and push back when Barricade rear-ended him, keeping his lead and making the black and white swerve, losing speed. They were almost at the designated end of the race, but Barricade was nothing if not fast himself, so when Rhythm unexpectedly swerved, he was again in the right position to take advantage of it and speed ahead.

Only to be broadsided by a bit of flying debris, somehow side kicked by his opponent, sending him completely out of control. The smaller, silver were laughed as he flashed past the designated finish line, victorious, then flung himself around so that he faced Barricade. With a wordless snarl, the loser shut off his engine and allowed the silver car to push him backwards a few car-lengths -- reestablishing his dominance over the challenger.

Then Rhythm pulled back and drove a fast neat circle around the red car that was Redline's were-form. Redline revved his engine in response, and the two chased each other's fenders in tight circles before both rocketing down the road designated for racing to challenge for First. Unlike the race between Rhythm and Barricade, this race was light-sparked and devoid of any tricks or shoving. Rhythm and Redline raced for the sheer joy of doing so, side by side, a display of skill. And Redline always won.

After all, they were a team.

tbc

notes: i can't believe i'm actually doing this.

the concept of transformers being a species of werewolf equivalents has been floating around in my head for years. i just could never get it to fit in my mind, and i had nothing resembling a plot. then i had a dream about it, and woke up with everything fitting together and the beginnings of a plot. thus this is really, really weird. deal with it.

also... updates are probably not going to be as fast with this as with "roads" simply because i have only the vaguest idea of where i'm going with it. apologies in advance.


	3. Part Two

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part two**

Prowl stood at attention in front of the Iacon chief of police, who was grumpily reading a datapad.

Nightbeat was an imposing mech. Iacon was one of the most crime-free areas of Cybertron because of him. Or it had been until recently. And he was not happy about being forced to call in a member of the Praxis police to help.

Silently he finished reviewing the datapad and tossed it to the white mech across from him. Taking his cue from the steel and brass colored police chief, Prowl silently picked up the pad and read it.

A case file, as expected, detailing the violent deaths of over a dozen mechs. Some had been smashed into the ground, and others had been bodily ripped apart. It was gruesome. But... "Why am I here? Surely your own forces have dealt with serial murderers before."

"Unlike _Praxis_," Prowl allowed the snide tone to wash over him without taking insult, "Iacon doesn't get a lot of shapeshifter related crime."

Which was why Prowl had been called, presumably. Prowl was the best investigator of shapeshifter related incidents in Praxis, which did have a high percentage of criminal shapeshifters. He looked through he file again, this time reading the autopsies thoroughly. Yes, those did look like shapeshifter kills -- either a were-tank or were-cars. He said that out loud, then continued with, "Tanks are usually loners, but cars hold territories in packs -- called Tracks. Where is the local Track based? I should start investigating there."

Instead of answering, Nightbeat hit the intercom on his desk. "Red Alert! Get your aft up here."

Not a breem later, the red and white officer entered the chief's office. "Prowl, this is Red Alert. Red Alert, Prowl. He's going to be investigating the shapeshifter kills. You're to help him. Now both of you out of my office."

In the hallway the two mechs stared at each other, Red Alert mulishly and Prowl placidly, until Red huffed and turned away. "Come on. My desk is this way."

Prowl approved of Red Alert's desk. The red and white had kept it neat and orderly, unlike a good many of Prowl's coworkers in Praxis.

"So," Red's voice was sharp with something buried under his professionalism, "since I've been assigned to help you, where do you want to start?"

"We should talk to the First of the local were-car Track. Were-cars are territorial and if this isn't the work of his Track, then we're looking for a were-tank."

Red Alert was nodding and Prowl revised his opinion of the other officer. He obviously wasn't going to let his resentment of being replaced get in the way of actually investigating. Then he winced. "Problem... we don't know who the -- First, you called it? -- is."

He shuttered his optics, nonplussed. How could they not know who the local Track First was? He asked.

"We don't know who any of them are." Red nearly growled. "They're serious about not letting us find out. We've got a few images of a few of them in car-forms, but nothing else. And the few lower ranked cars we've identified are more afraid of their leaders than us -- won't tell us anything of their pack structure."

Secretive were-cars. That was a first in Prowl's experience. The Praxis track couldn't be more obvious if they tried. Prowl couldn't recall exactly how many times he'd had to haul Motormaster and his cronies in for reckless endangerment and property damage. Fraggers usually even admitted to being the culprits too. He revved his systems a bit. Unfortunately Motormaster may have been a complete jerk, but he hadn't done anything to warrant being locked up permanently, and Prowl knew the Second of the Praxis Track was even worse.

"Show me the images."

Holograms of cars, taken from a set of sky spies, appeared spread out across the desk. There weren't many. And all of them were taken over the wild roads outside of the city, not a single image of a car within the city itself -- that partially explained how they'd kept themselves secret. Prowl immediately recognized what they were doing too.

"What do you know about were-cars, Red Alert? Tell me what you see."

Red shrugged. "Cars, at least three dozen of them, and if they have any identifying marks, they've been covered up."

Prowl stared at Red Alert until he fidgeted, then asked, "When, exactly, was the last time Iacon had major trouble with shapeshifters?"

Blue optics flickered as he thought. "There was a territorial dispute between a pair and a trine of were-jets last vorn. Did a lot of property damage. Some petty stuff with lower members of the were-car pack -- mostly harassing the local motorcycle'shifters. And we've found evidence that the cars ran off a tank two moon cycles ago."

Territorial disputes between jets? Cars harassing motorcycles? _Evidence_ the cars ran off a tank -- not even any witnesses to the fight that must have been? No wonder the police here didn't know anything about shapeshifters. Prowl shook his head and turned back to the holograms covering the desk. He hadn't known were-cars were capable of being that low-profile.

He gestured, drawing Red's attentions back to the pictures as well. "These were all taken while both moons were full, correct."

"Yes. What are you seeing I'm not."

"Those are challenge races. During the double full moon is when were-cars reestablish their ranks within their Track. That's when lower ranked members challenge the higher ones for their positions, and members that are comfortable with their rank submit to those higher, reaffirming that they at least will not offer challenge. Turn off the ones that weren't taken last night."

All but five of the holograms were turned off. Prowl examined those five closely. The sky spy that had taken them had apparently been very far away, so there was no real details on the cars, but he was able to tell them apart by their colors. One picture depicted two cars, one silver and one black and white, racing along one of the roads, with the rest of the track fanned out on either side of the road. Another had the same two cars sitting front bumper to front bumper. He tapped the desk beneath that one to draw Red Alert's attention to it.

"The silver car is the track's Second. The black and white is the Third. That one," he pointed to a third picture, this one of the silver car racing a red one and losing, "the red car is the First."

"How can you tell?"

"Your sky spy was good -- it caught the most important information. Only the First, Second and Third make another submit like that," Prowl gestured to the one of the two cars that were bumper to bumper. "And only the Second will race both the First and the Third."

Prowl noted the colors of the three cars in his CPU, then examined the other two pictures. The fourth was just one of the cars all chasing each other in circles, with no apparent pattern -- for fun probably -- and the fifth was one of the cars speeding down a very wide metal wild road. That one warranted closer attention.

He'd already identified the First, Second, and Third. The First and Second were in the lead of the track, though strangely the Second paced equal to, perhaps even a bit ahead of, the First. That was very odd. Prowl knew that after losing his challenge race the Second should have hung further behind the First. He wondered how the First was going to punish the Second for that bit of insubordination -- in Praxis, Motormaster would have ripped off the cheeky fragger's tires and made him eat them for something like that. The position of the Third was more normal. He'd apparently been disgraced by losing his challenge and had been bullied out of his spot just behind the First by a yellow and red pair.

He pointed out the five cars to Red Alert. "Those are the ones we need to find."

"Great! Do you know how common those colors are in Iacon?" Wordlessly Prowl shook his head. "Most of the population is some combination of those colors."

"You said you knew who some of the lower ranked individuals were."

Cautiously, "Yes..."

"Put that picture onto a portable viewer. We're going to go talk to them."

tbc

notes: i don't know how many people are read this that aren't reading "roads". i suspect not many. but like i said there, next week is finals week for me. i will not be writing or updating. after that is spring break -- but since i'm going home for the break, i don't know if i'll have time between family matters to write or internet to update. this means i might not update this again until i'm back in my dorm.

see you all next quarter, i guess.


	4. Part Three

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-cars of Cybertron: part three**

Rhythm revved his systems when he felt Red Alert's energy field brush against his. Sure winning his race against Barricade, then getting some time to just drive, re-familiarizing himself with the energy fields of the entire Track and just feel the wind and the road had put him in a good mood, but he was still a bit fragged at Red for almost making him late.

Too bad he couldn't just tell the officer what he endangered by harassing Rhythm -- the Track under Redline and Rhythm was stable, didn't let its internal and territorial conflicts spill over onto non-shifters, and was mostly law abiding. The Iacon Track under Barricade would be the absolute Pit for the Iacon police.

So a succinct "I'm still fragged at you, Red," was his greeting when the red and white stopped him to talk.

Red being Red, immediately looked both angry and suspicious. That wasn't anything new. But, y'know, other than being a bit angry at Red, Rhythm was still in a good enough mood that the usual attitude wasn't really bothering him. He just leaned against the nearest wall and watched Red work himself into a right fit.

"Excuse me."

Rhythm turned his attention to Red's companion for the first time. And barely stopped himself from grimacing -- black and white, almost the same pattern as Barricade. But there were differences too -- one, he didn't have tires so he either wasn't a were-car, or he was still blending in (something both Rhythm and Barricade had given up on a long time ago), but if he was a were-car he should have gotten Redline and Rhythm's permission before coming to Iacon. And, two, his entire demeanor couldn't be more different than Barricade's.

"Yes," Rhythm drawled back at the officer -- he wasn't anyone he'd ever seen before, but he couldn't be anything else if he was hanging out with Red.

"I apologize for interrupting your day, but I do need to discuss a few things with you. Is there someplace where we can speak privately."

Polite too. Not something Rhythm encountered often, wearing his tires openly and all. "'Kay. But he," he waved at the mulish looking Red, "doesn't get t' come with."

Red sputtered, and Rhythm grinned. His day was looking better already. The black and white's calm blue optics didn't even look at the other officer when Red tried to protest, just continued to look at Rhythm as though trying to judge just how serious he was. Then held out his hand to halt Red's protests. "Very well. Red Alert, you will stay here."

He gestured for Rhythm to lead the way. Rhythm couldn't help but shoot Red a triumphant smarmy grin as he turned to do so. He could practically feel the glare on his back. Glitch deserved it anyway, after last night.

He led the black and white over to where public tech-chess tables had been set up along one side of a sculpture garden. This time of day the garden only had a few viewers, and no one playing tech-chess -- private enough. It was also a relatively open area where it'd be almost impossible to sneak up on them, and Rhythm could make a quick escape from if he needed.

"You play?" He asked the quiet officer.

"Occasionally."

"We can play and talk then. My name's Rhythm, by the way."

"Prowl."

Nice. Almost a were-car name.

Rhythm offered Prowl the choice of sides in tech-chess and the officer chose to go second. Rhythm made the first move. "So wha'cha want t' talk about."

Prowl moved his piece. "I'm wondering why you're so... 'fragged' you said... at Red Alert. He could have insisted on taking you to the station for talking to him like that."

Rhythm studied the board a bit, then moved his first piece again. "'Cause last night he did haul me t' the station. I was almost late t' the gathering. Coulda lost my position."

"What is your position?" Prowl moved a second piece.

"Not high. Just barely not a sentry. Don't wanna be a sentry." Not the truth, but not quite a lie either. If Barricade took over the Track, he'd probably throw Rhythm and Redline down to sentry duty until they could work their way back up to challenge him. He contemplated the board. Politely Prowl waited for him to make his move. He did so, setting up a fairly obvious trap in the process.

The black and white didn't look like he was going to take the bait on the trap. "I need to talk to your Track's First."

"No." Rhythm didn't even have to think about the answer. Prowl paused, still holding the piece he intended to move.

"Excuse me."

"Ain't gonna tell you how t' find our First. Tha's something he's pretty firm on. He and our Second are pretty fair, but we still don't disobey them on those things, and our Third's a mean fragger. I really don't want t' give him an excuse."

Prowl placed the tech-chess piece. "I see."

They played several turns in silence. Until Rhythm asked, "Wha'cha wanna talk t' him about? I could probably pass a message..."

He seemed to think about that for a moment, then pulled a datapad out of subspace and handed it to the silver were-car. Curiously he opened the first file.

And nearly dropped the pad in shock. "What the frag?"

The black and white had discarded any pretense of examining the game and was openly watching the were. "Over a dozen, all during the two single full, the double full, and the double dark moons -- the four nights in a lunar cycle a shapeshifter is forced to transform. Two or three a night during those nights. And it's obviously the work of ground-forms rather than anything in the sky."

Rhythm tossed the pad back across the tech-chess game, with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary. "It ain't us. First is gonna be fragged and good when he finds out."

"You see why I need to speak with him -- and with your Second and Third as well."

"Yeah, I see. But it ain't my call. Technically we ain't even supposed t' admit t' you were 'shifters. Kinda hard not t' when we're wearing our tires, but I really can't tell you how t' find them. I'll pass the message up, though."

"Very well. You do know that if your track does not cooperate with the investigation, though, I will have no choice but to consider you all suspects."

"Yeah. I know. I said I'd pass the message, didn't I. Can't do more than that -- the enforcers'll tear off my plating if I do more. I kinda like my plating where it is."

"I won't bother pointing out that the police are required to protect you from the threat of bodily harm."

Primus. Who was this guy? He knew too much about how a track worked -- managed to strike the right balance between authoritive police and allowing the Track to work it out for itself. He knew the rules. Rhythm had never met a non-shifter who knew the rules. Very few shifters who weren't were-cars even knew more than the trivia of how a track worked.

They played for a while longer, Rhythm answering the officer's questions about the Track's activities over the last few months as best he could without hinting at his position in the hierarchy. Prowl's polite distance never faltered. He was never anything but perfectly civil to the silver were-car. And despite the investigation now looming over the Track, Rhythm couldn't help to respond. How long had it been since someone other than Redline had really looked past the fact that he had tires? Well there was Orion, but he didn't believe in shapeshifters and ignored the differences in Rhythm's form that marked him as such. And sure the other were-cars never had a bad thing to say -- well except Barricade -- but that was because Rhythm was Track Second and most were intimidated by him and his hold over the twins.

Grinning softly, Rhythm surrendered the game. "Tha was fun, Prowl. We'll have t' do it again -- hopefully without the interrogation though."

Prowl only noddded and stood. Feeling the need to match the officer's courtesy, Rhythm did the same. They nodded goodbye and turned to head in separate directions, but Rhythm turned back.

"Prowl, can I get a copy of the case file?" The mech stiffened, and Rhythm revised the request. "Just a couple of the pictures -- don't need any of the details. But I'd like something t' pass on with the message, so the hierarchy knows you police are serious this time."

Prowl thought about it, then copied a few files from the datapad to a disk.

"Thanks."

The black and white just nodded again, and went back to where he'd left Red Alert waiting. Rhythm smirked when he realized that if the suspicious red and white had obeyed the order he'd been given, he wast _still _waiting over by the market stand where they'd stopped him to talk. A slight bounce entered his step at the thought that he'd managed to pull one over on the fragger without disobeying the Track policy for dealing with the police.

tbc

note: none this time. is it normal to be this tired after a vacation...


	5. Part Four

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part four**

That was... quite possibly the most polite conversation Prowl had ever had with a 'shifter in the course of his duties. Especially with Prowl occupying the submissive side of the conversation -- allowing the were to choose the place, allowing him to open the conversation, not to mention leaving Red Alert behind in the first place. Most were-cars he'd encountered before would have interpreted the slight submissiveness as weakness and amped up the dominance response.

A were-car didn't just play dominance games. They lived them. Prowl understood that. It was one reason he was as good a investigator of 'shifter related incidents -- he played the games with the track First, made sure he occupied a dominant position in relation to Motormaster which gained him the cooperation with the entire track. To an extent at least, since Motormaster was always resentful and challenging. But until he could confront the First in Iacon, being dominant wouldn't gain him much, because the lower ranked track members would either be aggressive and fight back, or quite readily admit that Prowl was dominant and continue to be non-cooperative. So he'd went for slightly submissive -- as in order to continue feeling dominant, the were would feel the need to prove he could fulfill his request -- and been prepared to deal with the bullying he'd get in return.

Except Rhythm hadn't bullied him. Had in fact allowed Prowl the position of a slightly submissive equal, concentrated his dominance play on Red Alert, and had even surrendered the tech-chess game to him -- even though Prowl had been careful to ensure the were-car wouldn't lose.

That last had thrown Prowl off balance a bit. Formal dominance challenges were essentially contests of skill. On the double full moon, the fights and races between members of the track could be dangerous, but were still at their core displays of skill. Any game could be used to sort out hierarchies with outsiders -- non-shifters and shifters who weren't were-cars. Surrendering the game allowed Prowl a measure of dominance. Not much, as Rhythm hadn't done anything that could be taken as a formal submission. So, equals. Even if Rhythm was a very low ranking track member, equal was a good position to start from.

Red Alert didn't not look happy when Prowl found his way back to where he'd been left.

"Do you know," he growled, "how long I've been waiting here?"

"Yes."

The calm response just further agitated the red and white. "And why did you feel the need to leave me waiting here for almost the entire day?"

Prowl didn't particularly feel like trying to explain to Red Alert the intricacies of were-car ideas of dominance and submission (or that it had not been the entire day, he shouldn't exaggerate like that). He doubted he would really listen and it was one of those things that had to be lived in order to understand anyway.

"It was necessary," he simply said instead.

"'Necessary' my aft! I could have helped. I know him. He --"

Prowl cut him off. "Yes. You and he know each other -- have history together, if only as a police officer and a sometimes suspicious citizen. He's already established the pattern of not cooperating with you. If you'd been there that wouldn't have changed."

"And he cooperated with you?" Red Alert sounded incredulous.

"Yes."

He made a disbelieving sound, but didn't otherwise comment. "So who are going to interview?"

"Another of the lower ranking individuals you know about."

Now Red Alert looked smug. Prowl didn't let it bother him. "He didn't tell you who the First was either."

Prowl didn't answer.

888

Red Alert and Prowl interviewed several other were-cars that day. None took as long as the conversation with Rhythm had. And while they all seemed to dislike Red Alert, they weren't actively mad at him the way Rhythm had been.

The first two of those were a bit closer to what Prowl had expected in terms of their reaction to his slight submissiveness. But the last three nearly tripped over themselves being even more submissive, forcing Prowl into a slightly dominant position.

Prowl wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Was that worth it?" Red Alert had asked when they were all done.

In Prowl's opinion, it had been. Sure they still had no idea who the track's hierarchy was, or where they met, or if the track had anything to do with the murders, but Prowl had deduced a few things.

All the were-cars they'd talked to had refused to disobey the First's policies, but more on the basis that they were more afraid of the Second, Third and a pair of enforcers than of the First. But if the Second was a better fighter and racer than the First, how did he keep his position? Apparently the First and Second positions hadn't changed or switched in... longer than most of the cars cared to remember.

And when talking about their leaders, one of the weirdly submissive were-cars had gotten as far as mentioning something about Kaon, before completely shutting off his vocalizer. So the city of Kaon was on his research list, though he had no idea what he might be looking for.

Back at the police station, Prowl went through the sky spies' database. There were some pictures of local tanks -- debatably two individuals, but no more than three -- and he was trying to identify them. Getting strait answers out of were-tanks would be easier since tanks were loners and didn't have an intricate social structure he would need to work himself into with complex dominance games first.

One hologram that caught his optics, though, wasn't of the tanks, or even of a ground vehicle at all. Two red and white were-jets, one much bigger than the other, flying nearly wingtip to wingtip. It reminded Prowl that he needed to talk to the were-jets too. The kills were definitely ground vehicle kills, but the jets might have seen something during their flights. It only took a moment to determine that the police did know who the jets were. He was slightly surprised no one had confronted them yet.

"PROWL! My office! NOW!"

Nightbeat's voice. With a sigh, Prowl stood to answer.

"Who the frag did you talk to today?" Nightbeat growled dangerously as soon as Prowl entered the office.

The black and white blinked, nonplussed. "Six of the lower ranked were-cars the department's identified as part of the Iacon Track. I am attempting to identify and contact their First."

Nightbeat just hissed his vents angrily at him. Now Prowl was really taken aback, but tried not to show it.

"Is there a problem?"

"Someone's run a background check on you."

A background check -- he should have expected that. He was new to Iacon and looking into the local track. Trying to contact the leaders of an apparently very secretive group of shapeshifters. Anyone would be curious about him. They would probably contact Mototmaster soon, if they haven't already.

"Is there any way to trace the search?"

Nightbeat gave him an odd look. "It was entered manually at the public library. Why are you being so calm about this?"

Prowl flicked the sensory panels on his back dismissively. "I should have expected it. Were-cars don't like dealing with unknowns."

The two stared at each other for a very long moment. Then Nightbeat growled. "You know a lot about shapeshifters don't you."

"It's my job."

"Red Alert was in here earlier, complaining about you."

Prowl wasn't surprised and simply waited for Nightbeat to continue.

"You left him to interview a subject without him. Why?"

Before answering, Prowl took a moment to organize his thoughts. The police chief couldn't be brushed off with a 'it was necessary'. Slowly, and still organizing things, he started:

"Our first interview subject was a silver-colored mech named Rhythm." Nightbeat made a noise and Prowl looked at him in question. Nightbeat just waved dismissively and didn't elaborate. To Prowl, he didn't need to just yet -- he'd obviously recognized the name, which meant the silver were-car had been hauled in more times than just last night. He didn't press and continued. "He requested that the interview be be conducted without Red Alert's presence. Up to that point he'd been... both amused and hostile, indicating a long standing pattern, and I thought it would be better to acquiesce to the request."

"Was it?"

"Yes. He was civil, polite and as cooperative as his track's edicts would allow him to be."

Nightbeat nearly goggled. "Rhythm? Polite?"

"Yes." Prowl pause, trying to think of a gentle way to get Nightbeat tell him. "That's unusual?"

"Primus! Yes. The mech's been nothing but snide and sarcastic every time Red Alert's hauled him in here. And not just to Red, but to every one of us. Why wasn't he to you?"

He thought about how to answer. Truthfully, Rhythm had confused him, so he couldn't answer the question with absolute certainty.

"I know a lot about shapeshifters," he finally settled on.

"Get the Pit out of my office."

tbc

notes: sorry this took so long. unfortunately that's probably going to be the pattern from here on out.


	6. Part Five

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part five**

Orion did not believe in shapeshifters.

He'd rip out his own wires before admitting it, but Orion didn't believe in shapeshifters because he didn't want to. So he ignored it whenever the ever over excitable Starscream was thrown out of his bar with a pair of wings he hadn't walked in with. Or when a group of smaller mechs were loudly discussing the specifics of a recent motorcycle race.

Or that one of his favorite regulars always wore his tires openly.

It wasn't so much that he didn't believe in the supernatural, or in Primus and Unicron. He did. And that was the problem. If he admitted that shapeshifters existed, he knew he'd get inexorably tangled up in his beliefs -- specifically that shapeshifters were Unicron-cursed. He didn't want to believe that some mechs were cursed by chaos, not equal to others, so he didn't believe even those who were openly shapeshifters were any different.

Some days disbelieving was harder than others. Like today.

Orion carefully did not listen to the conversation between his friends Rhythm and Redline. He just served them their drinks, chatted politely, and ignored what they were saying when they weren't speaking directly to him.

Because if he listened he'd have to admit that shapeshifters existed. And Orion did not believe in shapeshifters.

888

"We can't ignore this, Redline."

"I know that, Rhythm, but we can't reveal ourselves to the police. They'll put us in _cages_ like in Kaon."

"We don't and this continues, they'll hunt us all down as _suspects_. We'll end up in cages anyway."

"I know."

True to his promise to Prowl, Rhythm had passed up his message. He'd known Redline wouldn't like any part of it.

He'd been fragged off that some 'shifter was committing murders in his territory as Rhythm had predicted. Right now, Iacon was a good place for were-cars. That was because the Track was secret, and because the Track owned its territory. Among all the Iacon shapeshifters, the were-cars held the power, and used that to keep all of them from conflicting with the non-shifters.

When the four refugees had escaped from the deathtrap that Kaon was to all 'shifters, they'd sworn their new territory would be different. They'd fought and raced their way up the hierarchy of the Iacon Track and driven off its previous First and Second to make their new territory different. And it was.

And now that was being threatened.

Redline was staring intently at the tabletop. Rhythm couldn't help but feel sorry for dumping this on him -- and at the same time a bit relieved that he wasn't the one who was going to have to make the decision.

In an effort to lessen the burden, he offered, "I did some research on this Prowl person, before calling you."

Redline looked up sharply, with a bit of reflexive suspicion -- technically Rhythm should have waited for Redline's order before doing that -- to which Rhythm just as reflexively averted his optics under his visor and exposed the vital wiring where his neck joined his chest slightly. It was a measure of how stressful this situation was for him that Redline actually shifted to expose his claws and ran them gently along the exposed wiring. It was a gesture of dominance Redline rarely felt the need for with Rhythm.

Rhythm didn't mind. Submitting to Redline wasn't a power game -- he trusted his First, absolutely.

Soothed by the small ritual that was programmed into every were-car, Redline relaxed a bit. "Tell me what you've found then."

So he told him everything he'd found about Prowl's record in Praxis. That the officer had been called because he had experience in dealing with shapeshifter crime the Iacon police lacked.

"I suppose that's a downside of our having kept the peace here," was Redline's comment to that. He sounded so depressed, Rhythm couldn't help but whine his engine comfortingly. Redline quirked a smile in response and ran his hand down his Second's helm. Rhythm took the opportunity to brush the armor of his leader's arm with the back of his hand.

Then Rhythm continued relaying his information on Prowl with, "Talked to a few in the Praxis Track, too. Their First doesn't like him, but they all say he's fair -- say that anyone else woulda locked up both the Stunts and the local jets and thrown away the keycard for all the slag they cause, but this guy won't even haul them to the station without proof they were the culprits. 'Course once he does have proof -- well he's fair, not lenient."

"Fair...?"

"Yeah. It'd be better than getting the Matrix itself t' have an officer tha's fair, wouldn't it?"

Redline picked up the pad with the pictures Rhythm had gotten from Prowl earlier and contemplated them. "When you told me of your encounter with him, you sounded like you liked him."

"Won't deny that, my First. He sure gave a better first impression than Red did when he joined the force."

For a very long moment the red were-car stared at the pictures. Rhythm, this was Redline's decision and the silver car certainly didn't envy his making it. Whatever he chose to do, this was going to disrupt the Track.

Finally Redline sighed. "I'll approach him myself in a few days. In the meantime, help him with his case."

"Yes, Redline."

tbc

notes: usually if i have a question or a comment about a review, i use the ffn reply feature, but this one was anonymous, so ...

Siadea -- i won't deny that rhythm is a tricksy mech, but what do you think he's doing with redline that's horrible? and yes prowl saw the pictures of rhythm's alt form, and if he ever actually sees rhythm in his alt form, he'd recognize him. but unless there's something really distinctive about color, or size, it's really difficult for a non-shifter to connect the mech forms and car forms of an individual together. so prowl knows rhythm's a silver car, but not which silver car, and there are several, or he'd never be able to get away with the lie.


	7. Part Six

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part six**

Reviewing the files on the two were-jets in preparation for talking to them later today, Prowl didn't look up when someone walked into the room. It wasn't unusual after all -- this was a common workspace, with individual desks set apart by partitions, if the owner of the desk even bothered with them. Red Alert did, but many of the desks didn't have the partitions. He was far more concerned with the information on the two jets -- mechs by the names of Skyfire and Starscream. Most of it dealt with the territorial dispute Red Alert had mentioned earlier. In his head he was also reviewing everything he knew about were-jets. He'd dealt with the jets in Praxis often enough, but that was a five-jet strong flight, which he knew was very unusual. Most jets couldn't stand sharing territory with more than one or two other jets, the other members of a pair or trine.

So other people entering the room weren't all that much a concern to him -- until Red Alert looked up and hissed out a string of meaningless static. "What the frag's he doing here?"

Prowl looked up, and silently had to agree. Rhythm was making his way through the room. Once he apparently stopped another officer to ask something. The officer looked surprised, but replied with a gesture in Prowl and Red Alert's direction -- apparently Rhythm hadn't been able to see them beyond the partition around Red Alert's desk, though they saw him just fine. The silver were-car looked over and thanked the officer before starting toward them. Prowl calmly stood as he came near.

Red Alert also stood, bristling. "What are you doing here? I won't stand any of your usual tricks! Bad enough -- "

"Enough." Prowl cut him off.

Rhythm ignored Red Alert like he wasn't there. "Can I talk t' you, Prowl?"

Not entirely surprised -- he didn't think someone with such a seeming antagonistic relationship with the police in general and Red Alert in particular would civilly enter the station looking for be looking for someone local -- he nodded, then offered an extra chair before sitting back down himself.

For the first time Rhythm's body language acknowledged Red Alert's presence -- his optics flicked to the red and white, then to Prowl, then to the chair. Trying to decide, Prowl surmised, which was more important: maintaining the aggressive position in relation to Red Alert, or maintaining the equality he'd established the day before with Prowl. He whirred his fans a bit in resignation and sat in the chair. It seemed Rhythm was determined to continue throwing Prowl off balance. He'd expected the were-car to take his cue from Red Alert's aggression and continue standing.

"Passed your message up," Rhythm started, "First was fragged off, just like I said he'd be."

Suddenly a bit worried for the safety of his informant, Prowl asked, "He didn't take it out on you, did he? If so, I apologize for putting you in that position."

A quick grin. "Naw, It's cool. He was stressed, but barely touched me."

Prowl accepted the statement as true, but wasn't reassured. He didn't think it meant much -- from what he'd heard, if this Track's First wanted one of his underlings punished, one of the enforcers would do it rather than the First himself -- but Rhythm wasn't obviously injured and if he didn't want to admit anything, there wasn't anything Prowl could do. "Still, I do apologize."

"Ain't none of it your fault... First said he'd come t' you in a few days. Can't vouch for the rest, 'cause Third wasn't there when I talked t' First, and Second didn't say. It ain't my place t' speculate on them."

"Of course."

"I'm sure you noticed it -- Second's the one who did the background check on you. Told me that 'cause I'm assigned t' helping you."

"Help!?" Red Alert's incredulous screech attracted the attention of several of the nearby police-mechs. One or two looked over the partitions to make sure Red Alert wasn't calling for assistance. "How the frag do you expect to help us? By hindering the investigation like you always do."

Rhythm rose out of the chair, bristling and growling, "This is slightly more important than what'cha usually haul me in for -- ain't got nothing t' gain by playing my usual games." Then he visibly calmed himself, but didn't sit back down, and looked back to Prowl. "I can take you t' any member of the Track 'cept First, Second and Third. Can make them answer. Also got the names of the local tanks for you. I know where the motorcycles hang out, though I don't know all their names. And," he gestured to the holograms of the two jets still visible, "I can introduce you t' them. Starscream, at least, won't talk t' you if you go t' them cold."

According to the files, Starscream was the smaller red and white jet. And had been belligerent while the police had been sorting out the disruption caused by their territorial dispute. The other, Skyfire, hadn't been abrasive, but hadn't been particularly cooperative either. Prowl had been attempting to think of a way to approach them so they would be more cooperative -- and here, Rhythm was offering an introduction.

Prowl stood, and ignored Rhythm's reflexive bristling at the sudden movement. "Alright."

"Coolness." The silver car stepped to one side to allow Prowl to lead the way, then slipped in just behind and to the right of him -- a Second's place. Red Alert didn't notice the maneuver and simply followed them out.

For a few minutes, Prowl debated if -- no, of course he should do something about it -- _what_ he should do. Finally he settled on softly calling Red Alert up next to him so the two police officers could go over the information on a datapad while they walked. Hopefully that was subtle enough that it wouldn't offend. Discretely, he watched Rhythm's reaction. The were-car just shrugged and continued to saunter along behind them, like it didn't matter that Red Alert was walking ahead of him.

Prowl didn't believe Rhythm thought it didn't matter, but for now it was enough that there wasn't going to be any sort of confrontation.

Rhythm's directions took them to a research center rather than to the seekers' home address. As they took the elevator up, Prowl hurriedly went through his data on were-jets again -- they were territorial, like were-cars. Were-cars got irrationally aggressive when a stranger walked into their private spaces, but he'd thought that the sense of being at 'home' made were-jets more confident and cooperative.

Rhythm knocked rhythmically at the entrance of a lab on the top floor of the center, then entered without waiting to be acknowledged. It was a xenobiology lab with terriums of various plants and creatures not native to Cybertron dominating one wall. A large white mech looked up from his notes at them as they came in. He didn't have wings, but this couldn't be anyone except Skyfire.

Primus, he was big. The pictures in the police database had failed to prepare him for how large. Prowl could have fit comfortably in Skyfire's hand.

Still recovering from that realization, Prowl automatically reached back to grab Red Alert to keep him from advancing into the room and saying something that might anger the big mech. Which allowed Rhythm to take the lead.

"Hey there, 'Fire,"

"Good day, Rhythm," Skyfire returned. "If you're looking for Perceptor, he went to Praxis for the day to retrieve something. He'll be back tonight or tomorrow."

"Nice t' know. Came here looking for you, though." Rhythm gestured for Prowl to come further into the room. Skyfire's attention switched to the two officers and Rhythm introduced them. "Prowl's on loan from the Praxis police t' look into something here. He wanted t' talk t' you, and since I kinda like him, I decided t' introduce you. And you already know Red Alert. Prowl, meet Skyfire."

Prowl nodded in greeting.

"Nice to meet you." Skyfire returned the nod.

"Likewise."

"Well," Rhythm grinned, "since you two seem t' getting along fine, I'm going t' find something else t' do." On his way past Red Alert, he leaned in close and whispered mischievously, "And if you don't come t' keep an optic on me, I'm going t' do something suspicious."

Then he sauntered out of the room with a slight bounce. Red Alert sputtered, and shifted, then finally growled in a way eerily similar to a were-car and agitatedly followed.

There was a moment while Prowl waited for Skyfire to start the conversation.

"What did you do?"

Prowl just tilted his head in question.

"He just manipulated Red Alert into following him so that my impression of you isn't colored by his attitude, which he wouldn't do if he didn't like you more than he dislikes Red Alert. So what did you do?"

"I'm not sure." It was only the truth. Prowl didn't know what he'd done to earn Rhythm's acceptance. And now it was time to change the subject. "Have you or your partner seen anything suspicious lately during your flights?"

Skyfire dimmed his optics in thought. "I'm not sure what you're asking about. Starscream and I see a lot of things -- a great many of which could be classified as suspicious. But something tells me you're not asking about breaking and entering, vandalism or mechs interfacing on rooftops."

"Shapeshifters where they wouldn't normally be on the significant nights of the month?"

Something to the side beeped insistently. Skyfire apologized and explained that he needed to check some reading on several of the xeno-habitat tanks on a strict schedule, and could he hold on a few minutes while he did so? Prowl didn't have a problem with that.

"Those nights," the big mech said, a bit randomly a bit later so it took Prowl a moment to realize the were-jet was answering his question, even as he took his reading on the fourth tank, "Starscream and I don't stay in the city for long. There's more room to fly when there's no buildings in the way, and we're usually feeling a bit wild from the forced change." He moved on to the next tank. "Still we see the patterns ... motorcycles racing through the city streets and cars racing on the wild roads. The tanks --" The next habitat. "-- I know that one always spend those nights just recharging so we never see him. The other two ..." Skyfire paused, "That's strange -- I don't remember seeing them for the past month or so." He continued the checks. "They're a bonded pair, and usually play just outside the city -- between the city limits and the roads used by the were-cars." He finished up with his last habitat. "Does that help?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Anything else you wanted to ask?"

Prowl drew out a datapad with a map of Iacon and the surrounding wild roads. "Would you be willing to help me figure out the patterns of the ground-vehicle shapeshifters' movements on those nights?"

Skyfire hummed as he considered the request. "I won't tell you where the cars' moon alter, the motorcycles' safe zones, or any of their homes are."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"Then sure."

tbc

notes: there have been lots of suggestions that i take the rating down from "m". originally i posted it under the m rating because i was was telling a were-"wolf" story, and i've never been able to tell a werewolf story without massive amounts of gore. the dream that started this certainly had enough gore to nearly qualify it as a nightmare. alas, since it has yet to materialize, i am taking suggestion and pulling the rating down to "t" for the moment, but once i get to the nightmare-chapter/s it'll go right back up.


	8. Part Seven

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part seven**

Prowl and Skyfire both started a bit when the door to the lab almost slammed open and Rhythm stomped in, trailed by Red Alert.

"Are you done with your questions?" he growled at Prowl.

Prowl was slightly taken aback by the tone. Granted, this was closer to what he'd expected when dealing with the lesser were-cars without confronting their leader first, but it was very different than what Rhythm had been using in Prowl's presence to this point. "Nearly."

"Good. I'm going driving."

With that, the were-car about-faced and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

Red Alert sputtered and tried to follow, stuttering that he needed to keep him under observation. Prowl caught his fellow police mech and let Rhythm go. Skyfire was revving something amusedly behind them.

"Let go of me! We've got to follow him!"

Prowl didn't let go until he was sure Rhythm would be far enough away not to be followed. Nevertheless, Red Alert stomped out into the corridor after the were-car. Prowl waited.

A short time later, Red Alert stomped back into the lab and glared at Prowl. The black and white simply gazed back, waiting for Red Alert to say something. He didn't, just glared for a bit, then turned away.

Skyfire snickered and handed Prowl's datapad back to him. "Done. Was that all?"

"For now, yes. Thank you."

A small but noticeable hesitation. "If he expected you to stay here, he wouldn't have asked if you were done here." That sounded like the scientist wanted them to leave, so Prowl thanked Skyfire, wished him a good day and turned to do so. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow."

Curious, Prowl turned back to ask why -- since it wasn't his habit to harass shapeshifters, especially ones who were not suspects -- but Skyfire elaborated without prompting. "Rhythm and Perceptor," he gestured to the smaller of the two desks in the room, " are friendly. I assume he'll bring you back tomorrow to introduce you."

He made a non-commital gesture with the panels on his back. Prowl couldn't think of a reason why he would need to meet the other scientist -- if Perceptor were a were-car he wouldn't have been able to go to Praxis today -- so he didn't think he needed to come back, unless he had something else to ask the were-jets. Why a scientist was friends with a low-ranking were-car wasn't any of his business.

He thanked Skyfire again and went to the door, Red Alert following somewhat sulkily. Just as he reached to open it, he caught sight of the occupation schedule for the lab. It was shared between Skyfire and Perceptor with an assistant to keep tract of their experiments when needed. Prowl immediately noticed the discrepancy -- the days neither Skyfire nor Perceptor would be present in the lab. Combined with Skyfire's earlier remarks, it meant --

"Perceptor's a were-tank."

He didn't need to see either Skyfire or Red Alert to know they were both surprised -- he heard both Red Alert's armor scrape as he stiffened in incredulous surprise and the clicks and clacks from Skyfire nearly shifting show his were-jet features -- claws, wings and thrusters -- from that same emotion.

"Yes," Skyfire cautiously confirmed, not sounding sure that doing so was the best decision.

"Which one?" Prowl thought he knew, but needed the confirmation if the scientist would give it to him.

"The one that recharges through the moons."

Prowl only nodded -- that was what he'd thought. He decided he would need to talk to Perceptor, but likely all he would need to confirm was that the were-tank had indeed recharged through the nights in question. He left the lab.

As they walked, Prowl and Red Alert conferred over the information Skyfire had given them. The scientist was obviously observant and willing to help. Prowl carefully avoided the idea that that willingness came from Skyfire having the idea that Rhythm liked him. He'd analyze that thought another time. Meanwhile... this was the route used by the were-cars for the race between the second and third, and this was the one used by the first and second. Here were the roads used for just driving around. There was the area used by the two tanks, with the note that they hadn't been there the last month and a half -- which meant they hadn't been seen those nights since just after the first set of murders. Some of the streets used by the motorcycles were marked, this one with a note that since he and Starscream didn't stay in the city long, it was likely far from accurate.

Prowl brought out a second datapad, this one with a map of Iacon with the locations of the murders marked on it. Comparing the two -- all the murders had taken place in or just outside the city. Two had been in the area used by the two were-tanks. The rest had happened in areas not marked as being used by any 'shifter group, though there were another three that had happened fairly close to streets used by the motorcycles. That didn't mean they were witnesses -- the murders could have easily happened well after the were-motorcycles had moved on in their races. Still, at this point it looked like it would be helpful to talk to them.

He frowned. He disliked dealing with were-motorcycles more than the other shapeshifter types. As annoying as were-car dominance games could occasionally be, to Prowl's thinking they were nothing compared to were-'cycle in-group/out-group politics. Though, he thought as he switched to one of the pictures of a crime scene to compare the damage inflicted on the victim to what he knew of motorcycle physiology and attack patterns, he would stand by his initial deduction that the victims were killed by either a were-tank or a group of were-cars, so the were-motorcycles weren't suspects.

Carefully he explained all this to Red Alert. The other mech was his partner for this case and should be told what the significance of each piece of information was. And since Red Alert himself had admitted a distinct lack of knowledge of shapeshifter habits (though not in those words), Prowl felt he should explain what conclusions could be drawn from what information, perhaps more importantly, what conclusions could _not_ be drawn, and as much of why as could be communicated in words.

The light quality changed slightly and Prowl looked up to realize he'd managed to wander back to the sculpture garden where he'd interviewed Rhythm.

He hadn't really been intending to go anywhere, except vaguely in the direction of the station, but in no actual hurry to get there. Vaguely he wondered why he'd ended up here -- then wondered why he thought it significant.

Flicking the panels on his back, he dismissed the concern.

The motion made a nearby mech do a double-take, which in turn attracted Prowl's attention.

A grey mech, with a body plan identical to Prowl's. That wasn't what made the officer take a second, longer and more analytical look. Rather it was the mech's companions: a red and yellow pair nearly half again both Prowl's and the grey mech's height. Granted, he'd seen plenty of red and yellow mechs in Iacon -- those were, as Red Alert had informed him, two of the most popular colors in Iacon -- but these two ... they moved fluidly together, had an awareness of each other that was both practiced and instinctive, which Prowl had only observed previously in were-jets who had flown together their entire lives.

And all three mechs had claws. They were much smaller and more subtle claws than Rhythm's or any of those who didn't hide that they were shapeshifters, but were more like Breakdown's back in Praxis, who Prowl knew had been created a shapeshifter and thus never managed to hide that one small sign.

Here, Prowl decided, was as good a place to wait for Rhythm to rejoin them as any, and he headed to one of the tech-chess tables. He didn't start a game though. Instead he and Red Alert continued discussing Skyfire's information and correlating it with that which they already had.

Besides, and he flicked his sensory panels again to make sure the grey mech was watching him and Red Alert for a moment longer, he had a theory or two to test.

tbc

notes: yeah i broke my POV pattern. we're probably going to stick with prowl's POV for a couple more chapters.


	9. Part Eight

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part eight**

Later, Prowl surreptitiously watched Rhythm confer with the grey mech he'd noted earlier. The red and yellow pair were busy playfully (Prowl hoped) wrestling in an empty area of the garden. Rhythm didn't interrupt them, simply asked something of the grey mech, whose lengthy answer included a discrete gesture to Prowl and Red Alert at the tech chess table.

The red one then noticed Rhythm and shoved the yellow one off him to greet the silver were-car. Yellow scowled and swiped the armor on the back of Red's leg before also standing to crowd into the small group. Prowl was very careful to both note the body language displayed by the four and maintain the fiction that he wasn't watching them. He was startled to note that Rhythm was the smallest of the four, maybe two thirds the height of the grey mech (who was shorter than the red and yellow pair by a good amount). Considering the grey mech was the exact same build as Prowl himself ... Prowl hadn't even noticed that he'd been looking down on the were-car, or that Rhythm had been looking up.

Then Yellow shoved Red, Red barked out a laugh that could be heard all the way across the garden, Yellow bristled and Red took off running, with Yellow close behind -- a race or a fight; it hardly mattered which. Rhythm and Grey watched them go. Shaking his head, Rhythm reached out to run his claws gently over the flat armor of one of the grey mech's sensory panels. Grey leaned the panel into the touch, but didn't touch back.

That short exchange was one Prowl had seen many times while dealing with the were-cars in Praxis, though Rhythm had been much gentler about it than any in Praxis generally were.

Prowl turned his full attention to the datapad currently being held by Red Alert so Rhythm wouldn't notice that the black and white police-mech had seen his interaction with the other were-cars.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Prowl looked up at Rhythm's greeting, the tiniest bit startled -- sure, he'd known Rhythm was coming to over to them, but the mech had been so quiet that without looking at him, Prowl hadn't noticed him actually get close. Red Alert looked up much more startled. Prowl held out a hand before the other police-mech could say anything.

"Not at all. We were waiting for you." He responded to the greeting.

Rhythm grinned as he reached over to another table to pull over a stool so he could sit with the two police-mechs. "Was Skyfire helpful?"

So the were-car wasn't going to apologize for running off earlier. That was alright, Prowl had not expected him to. "Yes, quite."

He ignored Red Alert's glare and reached over to fiddle with one of the tech-chess pieces. He wanted to invite Prowl to another game, Prowl could easily see, as he'd said he wanted after their first. But he didn't. "So what'cha want t' do now?"

This Prowl and Red Alert had decided while waiting. Not that the next steps were obscure ones. "We need to find the were-tanks. Skyfire's information indicates two may be missing. Then if you can take us to the were-cycles, please do. There is a chance they might have witnessed something."

He hummed a short tune as he thought. Despite the hesitation, Prowl didn't get the sense he was reluctant to share the information, just taking a moment to organize his thoughts. "Can take you t' where the tanks should be easy enough, except Perceptor. Skyfire said he'd be back tomorrow, so I'm guessing he's not the one missing." Rhythm stopped to check for any reaction to Perceptor's name. There was none. "Did you figure him out or did Skyfire tell you?"

"Skyfire confirmed it."

"S'far as I know, Perceptor don't really mind people knowing about him, but he's probably the only 'shifter I know who'd really have t' work t' be noticed as one. He don't mind that much either. What'cha gonna do if Backtrack and Brawl are missing?"

Prowl didn't even need to think of the answer, "I will officially log them on police networks as missing and initiate search procedures here in Iacon. The missing person's files on the world network will note that they are not suspects and if they are found I am to be contacted." Procedure. "If they're missing, they will need to be found. Whatever their status."

For the first time, Prowl developed an opinion on the visor covering Rhythm's optics -- there was definite meaning behind the were-car's look and the visor kept Prowl from interpreting it. For once the rest of his body language didn't give any insight. Rhythm definitely had some thought or opinion on that course of action, but Prowl couldn't tell wether it was positive or negative.

Then the thought had passed or been hidden and Rhythm was saying, "If you don't mind working overtime, I can take you t' a motorcycle hangout t'night. Sorry -- I know some names, but not much else. That'll probably be your best bet for talking t' them."

Prowl nodded. Red Alert made a sound of protest and Prowl knew why. There were a good many were-motorcycles' names and contact numbers in the Iacon police database -- mostly from complaints filed against were-cars or being brought in after crashing and wrecking parts of the city -- and he thought they should simply contact them and set up to meet them on their own, without Rhythm's help. Perhaps, if it were just Red Alert or another police-mech those 'cycles knew, they could have. But Prowl was a stranger to them. It would be far more expedient to establish where he stood with the smaller shapshifters as an entire group, then start contacting individuals.

"'Kay. Want me t' take you t' Brawl's place now, then?"

"Please do."

888

Brawl's residence was quite a ways from the park. The three mechs had to take the public monorail closer before walking the rest of the way. Prowl and Red Alert could have called for police transportation, but such vehicles were most often used for prisoner transport and would have attracted more attention than was strictly necessary. And Prowl took the time to advise Nightbeat of their progress and convince the police chief that they did have probable cause to enter the residence if Backtrack and Brawl were not present.

The authorization codes came over his comm channel just as they exited the monorail.

Brawl and Backtrack lived in an apartment on some sort of long term lease -- which explained why their possessions hadn't been sold off and the apartment rented to another tenant. Judging by the size of the doorways and the reenforcement obvious in the building's structure, this building was designed to house fairly large mechs (though not as large as Skyfire) in rooms they would consider fairly small.

"I'll stay out here," Rhythm offered at the building's main entrance. "Ain't got nothing against the two of them, and s'far as I know, they ain't got nothing against me or mine, but I doubt I'd be any help in there. I'll be there," he pointed to a nearby shop advertising small energon treats that had several tables and stools set up for customers, "when you're done."

"And what are you going to do?" Red Alert questioned before Prowl could acquiesce.

Rhythm just gave the red and white a patronizing look. "I'm gonna buy energon treats and eat them," he explained as though talking to a rather dim-witted, newly built mech.

Red Alert stammered and reached for his cuffs. Rhythm growled. Not loudly, just barely loud enough to register on Prowl's sensory panels as vibration. Prowl didn't know Red Alert's model specifications, but it was possible he didn't hear the growl at all.

Prowl flicked his sensory panels, both in annoyance and to shake the feeling of the vibration off them, as he stepped between them. "Stop this -- both of you."

They subsided, glaring at each other. Deftly Prowl flicked one of his sensory panels between their line of sight to break up the staredown without one winning. "We will see you when we exit," he said to Rhythm, then turned to Red Alert. "Come on."

Neither Backtrack nor Brawl answered the intercom on the door to their flat. Instead of entering the apartment right away, Prowl buzzed the intercom on a neighbor's door and asked a few questions about the two mechs' usual routine. He discovered they should be home now, and that they neighbor hadn't seen then in a while. The blue mech freely admitted that he wasn't the most observant person, and because of that hadn't been worried about not seeing them until Prowl had buzzed, but now that he thought about it, it was a bit strange.

Combined with Skyfire's information and that the two tanks hadn't answered their door, it meant Prowl had more than enough reason to use the entry codes he'd gotten from Nightbeat.

Messy was his first impression. Then revised it to clutter that had been riffled through. He was careful not to disturb anything as he did his first walkthrough to the premises. Behind him he could hear Red Alert recording everything. Only after everything was on record would anything be shifted around to examine. Still there were several things obvious even without shifting the mess around.

One cabinet that had once held nothing but medical supplies had been dumped onto the floor right in front of the now empty storage space. The supplies had been hastily sorted through, and some were obviously missing -- pre-packed boxes had been opened and some of their contents gone. They would need to do a full inventory compared to the boxes' contents lists to find out exactly what the missing supplies were.

The storage area of the energon dispenser had also been left open and again it was obvious some was missing. Again they'd need to do an inventory comparing the present contents against the device's records to find out what had been taken.

Other things, kick-knacks, cushions, datapads, and more had been pulled out of their spaces in cupboards and on shelves to be left on the floor. There was a good chance some of it also was missing, but exactly what would be harder to determine than the medical supplies and energon.

It looked like a robbery -- except Prowl could quite clearly see several things a thief would have taken with him still present in the flat, like the entertainment screen and vid disks. There was also a very thin smattering of dust over every surface indicating it hadn't been disturbed in weeks, tentatively confirming the timeframe in which the two were-tanks had disappeared.

"Done," Red Alert announced and he and Prowl started a more thorough search through the detritus.

Every computer in the flat confirmed it hadn't been active in a month or more, concretely confirming the timeframe when Backtrack and Brawl had disappeared.

The missing medical supplies consisted of wires, fluid tubing, solder and a soldering iron, a small medical welder, quite a few replacement support struts and muscular cables and every piece of temporary armor plating. Prowl was relieved to note that whoever had taken the supplies hadn't grabbed anything for dealing with neural circuitry or other vital system damage. According to the energon dispenser's records, every last bit of highgrade and most of the midgrade was missing. As he'd thought, the rest was nearly impossible to determine as missing -- volumes four through seven of a popular ten volume datapad novel set, and some tools were all Prowl could confirm as having should have been there and now gone.

What was there to be found was as or more interesting than what was missing, though. Brawl apparently surveyed the wilderness areas in his spare time and drew maps of those areas. They weren't navigation-quality maps and had such things marked on them as good spots to observe a turbofox den and what cavernous structures had interesting crystal formations. Obviously drawn for the surveyor's own amusement, but they indicated a familiarity with those areas and would provide a good starting point for searchers.

Just as interesting was a journal datapad written by Backtrack. It had been wedged between the large recharge plate and one wall, with a magnet sticking it to the wall to keep it from falling out of reach. Very well hidden. Prowl would have missed it -- had missed it -- during his search of the room, if it hadn't been for Red Alert's insistence on moving everything to see what might be behind or under it. It had taken both of them to move the plate, which was big and heavy enough to support two fairly large, heavy mechs. Neither Prowl or Red Alert were particularly big, so moving the recharge plate had been a strain.

Backtrack's journal made the strain worth it. As was to be expected from such a thing, it mostly contained rambling accounts of the writer's daily life, but on the dates corresponding with the double full, double dark, and single full moons there were references to a third were tank. At first, for a few months, the tank was only there. One account detailed the strange tank having been run off by the were-cars, but the were-tanks were content to share space with the stranger. Then the strange tank started harassing them. It was both bigger and stronger than both of them and Backtrack admitted to being somewhat scared. The last entry was a month ago, on the day before the double full moon -- the night before the second set of murders.

When Prowl and Red Alert were both certain they'd gotten everything the two of them could out of the flat, they left, Red Alert already calling the station to report the two mechs as missing, one possibly injured. Search procedures were started, with the two of them listed as vital witnesses in possible danger, and a sweeper team was called to go through the flat to find anything the two officers might have missed.

tbc

note: fast update -- i got hit with a plot stick recently. i'm in the process of typing up the next chapter too.


	10. Part Nine

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were Cars of Cybertron: part nine**

Rhythm was waiting in the treat shop, as he'd said he'd be. He'd also pulled a datapad from somewhere and was deriving some sort of entertainment out of it. At first, Prowl thought he might have been reading, but at he and Red Alert got closer, he could see Rhythm fiddling with it -- a game of some sort then.

There was also the unexpected courtesy of the were-car having chosen a table big enough for the three of them and purchased treats and cubes for the two officers in addition to whatever else he'd bought for himself. He didn't look up when they approached, but spoke when Prowl stared at the energon quizzically.

"Nothing's wrong with it. Been with you two nearly all day -- figure you gotta be running on near empty by now."

Prowl wasn't sure what to make of the gift. While he wasn't particularly low on power, the energon would be appreciated. And they did need to stay here for a bit longer and wait for the sweepers and the police transportation they'd called.

"Thank you." He and Red Alert each took a seat -- Red Alert with a sullenly muttered "thanks." Rhythm smiled, nodded in acknowledgment, and continued his game. There was a dominance game going on here -- with were-cars there was almost always a dominance game going on -- but Prowl was having a hard time figuring it out. It was subtle, and not something he'd seen before. Yet it had to be a variation on something were-cars did within their track, or else it would have no meaning. And Rhythm just remained focused on his game and managed to give no clues away with his body language. He riffled through his memory of every time he'd seen one of the Praxan were-cars buy fuel for one another to see if there was a pattern, and couldn't find one. Would --

"Relax, Prowl. You're working your wires int' knots." Prowl's optics flickered in surprise. He'd been sure none of his thoughts or worries had been reflected in his own body language. "If it helps, it ain't about status this time."

Which ... did help, a bit. It meant neither Prowl nor Red Alert would appear submissive to Rhythm if they accepted the fuel. But it also didn't tell him what accepting did mean. Not that it mattered -- he didn't have any real reason to refuse without offending the silver were-car.

The cube was a good quality midgrade. It wasn't high quality enough to be usable as a bribe or high enough grade to be considered an attempt of get the officers drunk. The energon treats were still packaged so they could either me eaten here, or taken with them to eat later. Prowl and Red Alert both chose to save them, and Rhythm gave no indication that he cared one way or another.

"We need to return to the station after the sweepers get here," Prowl spoke up when they were done with the energon and Rhythm had looked up from his game. "You don't have to come with us, but your First needs to come to us tomorrow."

"'Kay, I'll tell him. You still gonna want t' talk t' the motorcycles tonight?"

"Yes."

888

Prowl left Red Alert still at his desk when they both got off-shift. They were both working overtime tonight.

Surprisingly, the other officer hadn't wanted to come. He was focused on the information they'd gotten from Brawl and Backtrack's quarters and on coordinating the search for the two were-tanks. Now that they had a direction, he wasn't letting his conflict with Rhythm sidetrack him. Prowl approved.

Rhythm was waiting for him right outside the station. After a short meaningless conversation, the were-car began leading the way down the street.

He didn't lead him out to the slum area as Prowl had expected he would. He was slightly surprised that there was an establishment here that could serve as a shapeshifter "hang out". Many believed shapeshifters to be virus-infested mongrels or Unicron-tainted drones, despite the Prime's declaration that shapeshifters held all the same rights all other Cybertronians did. In fact, from what little research he'd been able to do, Iacon and Praxis were the only cities that didn't have separate laws for shapeshifters. Still places that would serve shapeshifter clientele were often restricted to areas of the city were the owners cared more about credits than religion. In contrast, Artemis' Bow was located only a few blocks away from the government buildings.

As they walked, Rhythm was explaining why a place in a somewhat affluent neighborhood was a shapeshifter gathering place.

"Orion's place is one of the few that treats shapeshifters all equal-like. Most outside the slums either don't let us in cause the owners think we're tainted or overcharge us on general principles. Orion... don't. Truthfully, he don't believe in shapeshifters at all. Not sure how he pulls that off," The were-car made a self-depreciating gesture at his openly showing tires, "but he does. So no arguing with him over it, else Melanthios and Ironhide'll throw you outa there, police-mech or not."

Rhythm was serious, with no trace of the grin. This was obviously one of the rules that was followed by the shapeshifters in Iacon, and if Prowl wanted to use this place as they did -- a neutral spot, where one could meet with and talk to those not of one's 'shifter type without violence -- he would have to follow it too.

Praxis had its neutral spots too -- restaurants and bars where even the were-car first and his enforcers and the were-jets (who usually couldn't get within line of sight of each other without brawling) could be sat at adjacent tables and they'd do nothing but growl at each other.

Prowl nodded in agreement to the rule.

Rhythm continued his explanation, "Now just 'cause he ignores that we're Unicron-touched don't mean he's stupid. He knows we're problem customers and we get int' fights a lot. Melanthios and Ironhide work as bouncers, and the only two of us they haven't physically thrown out of there at least once are Skyfire and Perceptor."

The black and white started a bit in surprise. So Artemis' Bow wasn't completely neutral, but was still a place where such fights would not cause a small war. "Even your First?"

The were-car laughed. "Yeah. Even our First. Ironhide!" That last had been called out to a larger, slightly bulky mech with black paint who was about to enter the bar. Prowl could easily see him working as a bouncer. Ironhide stopped and waited for them to catch up.

When they were in easy conversation range, he greeted them."Rhythm. Who's this? One of yours?"

"Naw... Prowl ain't mine. He's a police 'bot, from Praxis. Ironhide, Prowl. Prowl, Ironhide."

Ironhide grinned and clapped a hand against Prowl's shoulder in greeting. "Nice ta meet ya." Prowl managed to nod and murmur a greeting in return as he shook off the hold. Luckily Ironhide didn't seem to offended. In fact -- "Personal space issues?"

"No." No Prowl did not have personal space issues. He just didn't like to be touched casually.

The black mech just shrugged. "Doesn't matter ta me -- believe me you haven't seen issues until you've pulled Rhythm here and his buddies offa Starscream and get your wires ripped out for your trouble."

"Facinating as this conversation's getting," Rhythm cut in icily, "I did want t' ask a favor of you, 'Hide."

"Shoot."

"Could you take Prowl here, and introduce him t'," he glanced in through the bar's window, "that gaggle of mechs in the corner near the 'screen?"

Ironhide looked confused, but agreed.

"Sweet! Doubt you'll have any fights t' break up with the police-mech here anyway. Later!"

With that Rhythm slipped into the door.

The two mechs eyed each other for a moment, then Prowl tilted his head to one side. "Shall we?"

"Sure."

The interior was tastefully, but inexpensively decorated. The tables were heavy, sturdy metal that looked like they would survive a small war, the stools were lightweight with gel cushions as their only concession to comfort, and the overhead lights were sheltered behind decorative crystal panels. Which fit with what Rhythm had said about fights and the owner's practical approach to the habits of rowdy, drunk shapeshifters.

The place was about half full with most of the customers gathered around an entertainment screen (protected behind a clear glass or transparisteel panel). A good number of those not part of that "gaggle" were sitting at the large table Rhythm had seated himself at.

As they neared where the group of smaller mechs were gathered in front of the entertainment screen, Ironhide called out to them, "Which one of ya lunatics is in charge tonight?"

He and Prowl were suddenly the focus of over a dozen blue, red, yellow and purple optics. Through experience and expectation, he could see the way the mechs clustered together into three smaller groups -- teams -- within the larger one.

One, a brown and rust red individual with a pair of tentacle-like decorations on either side of his mouth, stood with a jerky motion. "Won the race, didn't I?"

"Sure, whatever," Ironhide shook his head in exasperation, then pointed three individuals, each in one of the three teams, out to Prowl and introduced them. Starting with the one who'd spoken, "Prowl, that's Wreck-Gar," then a slighter pink and white femme, "Arcee," and finally a darker pink or perhaps purple mech, "and Sideways." Prowl presumed those three were the leaders of their teams. "Everyone, this is Prowl. He wanted ta talk ta ya'll."

Both Prowl and the were-'cycles were too busy staring warily at each other to notice when Ironhide left them to it. Prowl did feel about half of them ping his comm system for his police credentials and identification number. It was disconcerting -- he was well known in Praxis and everyone Rhythm had introduced him to had accepted him without that verification. He'd quite forgotten that, being new to Iacon, this was expected.

Finally Wreck-Gar snorted, "And what if we don't want to talk to a police-bot whose energy field just reeks of cars?"

"I am not allied with the were-cars -- I simply wish to know if any of you saw anything unusual during your normal activities on these dates," he rattled off the dates of the murders.

"No. Now go away."

After a moment of observing which of the motorcycles looked like they disagreed with the current leader, he did so. Primus, he disliked dealing with were-motorcycles.

He caught sight of the Rhythm sitting with the group of were-cars on the oposite side of the bar and debated for a moment joining them, or at least exchanging a few words with the silver car. He decided against it. He didn't want to do anything that could be interpreted as allying himself with the were-cars while in sight of the motorcycles -- not if he wanted to be able to talk to any of them later.

tbc

note: now back to our regularly scheduled wait.


	11. Part Ten

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part ten**

All of his careful maneuvering was about to be so many iron filings because of a miscalculation.

Melanthios did not let himself glare at the police officer as the black and white talked to the group of mechs he knew were were-motorcycles. Utterly useless things, the lot of them.

At first he'd thought nothing of his ally's activities. The police here couldn't catch a real shapeshifter criminal if said criminal went around with a label painted on his back, and the shapeshifters themselves were so absorbed in their own policies and politics that they hadn't even noticed. But then Nightbeat had called a _specialist_ in shapeshifter crime. Someone competent.

This could have been avoided, if he'd just --

Resolutely, he shook those thoughts out of his processor. What was done was done. Now he had to deal with it.

The police couldn't be allowed to find his ally.

Briefly he considered abandoning his ally to the tender mercies of the law, but dismissed the idea. He still needed the mech after all. And even after Melanthios no longer needed him, he couldn't be allowed to spill the name of his associate.

He needed to either throw the black and white off the trail. Or to get rid of him permanently -- that idea _was_ rather attractive and would placate his ally for a bit, but that would draw even more attention to them as the police took the death of one of their own very seriously.

So how to sidetrack him...

That thought kept him occupied until a were-car -- Melanthios was almost certain he was the Third -- leaned against the wall next to him. Barricade was intimidating for being only average in size, but he, Melanthios always had noted, lacked the confidence that made people sometimes think Rhythm and Redline were bigger than they were. And the bouncer was much bigger than Barricade.

"Looks like your friend's going to be in trouble soon," the smaller 'bot indicated the officer with a nod of his head.

"Why would the police trouble any friend of mine, Barricade?"

Barricade just grinned nastily, "The other cars might have been too absorbed in their own problems to notice -- but it didn't slip past _me_ when Brawl and his mate disappeared and their territory got used for other purposes, especially by someone we'd driven off once before. From there it was easy to track him back to your house."

Before he could contain the reaction, his optics shifted to where the Track's First and Second sat with the other were-cars, then away. He hoped Barricade had not seen.

No such luck. "If they had noticed, the police mech would have already found your friend -- smashed into the ground like his victims. Perhaps there might have been enough left to actually arrest."

"I ... see. What is it you want?" Of course he wanted something -- if he hadn't, Barricade would have told his First or gone directly to the police. As much as Melanthios didn't want to admit it, the car did have the upper hand here.

With a low rumble of satisfaction, the black and white relaxed more fully against the wall. "It occurs to me the foreign police officer -- new to the workings of this city as he is -- wouldn't be nearly as effective without Rhythm leading him around. And we both would benefit if Rhythm were to be ... distracted, wouldn't we?"

Without waiting for a response, Barricade then slipped back to the table with the other were-cars and called Orion over to refill his drink.

Melanthios simply watched the Praxan police officer make his way out of the bar and onto the street.

888

"Rhythm is fond of you."

Prowl whirled around in surprise -- he hadn't noticed the other until he'd spoken. A red 'bot leaned against the wall of the building he'd just passed. No, he corrected himself, taking in tires, headlights, and claws, not just a red 'bot -- a were-car, one who didn't care to hide what he was at the moment. He looked the tiniest bit familiar -- had he been one of the were-cars at the bar earlier? If so, he hadn't been so open about his nature then.

He debated with himself how to answer. Or if an answer was even required. The red car's stance was aggressive, confident. He seemed to loom over Prowl, to take up the entirety of the space he occupied. Aware of the (probably unconscious on the were-car's part) trick this time, Prowl took the extra moment to look at him objectively and determined he probably wasn't all that much bigger than Rhythm. This ... could be anyone, but Prowl rather thought he was either the red enforcer or the First. But that begged the question: why would either of them care about Rhythm's feelings since he wasn't disobeying any of the track's policies?

And just what was meant by "fond"?

Finally Prowl decided that no answer was required and stared back at the red were-car, carefully keeping his body language neutral.

"Nothing to say?"

"Rhythm's fondness or lack thereof is his business," Prowl said back.

The red mech growled and stalked forward challengingly. "Anything that might disrupt my Track is my business."

So this was the First. For a moment Prowl hesitated. This wasn't how he'd wanted the first meeting with the leader of the Iacon Track to go. He needed to be dominant so he could get answers out of the car, but this confrontation wasn't really about Prowl himself and because of that, he needed to submit or else he might be viewed as a rival.

Neutral. Neutral and non-confrontational. He stepped back, to show he wasn't going to challenge the car, but then didn't give anymore ground and held his posture as neutral as he could. He didn't look down, but was careful not to meet the car's optics. The car started to circle him, and Prowl let him, not moving. It was a risk, but Prowl's sensory panels kept track of the mech as easily as his optics would, and turning as though he expected to be attacked might set the were-car off.

"Surely your subject," and Primus, was that surprisingly hard to admit, to remember that the _contrary_ person he'd come to know was under command of another; he'd always known it, had always taken it into account, but saying it was hard, "would not betray you over a new acquaintance."

The car stopped and smiled, without the malicious edge Prowl might have expected. "Of that I have no fear."

_Then what do you fear_, Prowl wanted, but didn't dare, to ask.

Tension crackled between him and the circling were-car. Then the red mech shook himself, calming with a rattle of armor plates. He reached for one of Prowl's sensory panels which Prowl flicked away, avoiding the touch. "I'm not yours."

"Of course not," he replied with an honest sounding chuckle, then turned away, melting into the shadows with an ease such a brightly colored mech should not have. Prowl didn't relax until he heard the distinctive sound of a full transformation and the roar of a car engine speeding away.

tbc

note: oww ... that was a big plot stick.


	12. Part Eleven

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part eleven**

There was nothing else that could be done tonight. Prowl stopped by the station just long enough to check in with Red Alert and log himself off duty for the night before going to his temporary quarters and starting his recharge cycle. Red Alert said he was going to stay the night, that his systems could forgo recharge for a day if he kept his energon levels up.

Red Alert had hardwired himself to the console the night before and was still there when Prowl returned in the morning. Hardwiring yourself to a computer was considered difficult, unpleasant and dangerous by most mechs, but when Prowl had brought that up to Red Alert, he'd scoffed, saying he was designed for data analysis and there was nothing on his own console he didn't put there. And it was a much faster method to organize such things as sector by sector searches when there was someone acting as an information hub.

When Prowl walked up to their desk, the other officer briskly reported that, no, the two were-tanks had not been found by any of the searchers. They were starting with the places on Brawl's maps, but there was no way to know if some of the maps were missing. Red Alert direly predicted that there were ones missing and they'd have to search the entire wilderness. Holograms flickered above the desk -- correlating Brawl's maps with those from the sky spies, scans, darkened areas of a larger map showing places that had already been searched, text from the reports of the actual searchers, orders to search new areas. The display of information was dizzying to Prowl, and that was only what was showing as holograms. He didn't want to think about what would be going on inside the mech's processor.

Prowl didn't bother him and busied himself with going through the files on known were-motorcycles and arranging the names according to the team divisions he'd seen last night. Anyone in Wreck-Gar's team wouldn't give him a strait answer, but now that the team leaders knew him, he could press the others for information. Sideways, especially, had looked angry when Wreck-Gar had told Prowl to go away.

It wasn't until he found himself reading Backtrack's journal for the third time -- for mentions of the other tank and the activities of the Iacon track -- that he realized he was waiting for Rhythm. He frowned. True, they had never established a specific time for him to come, but Prowl would have thought he would be here by now.

With a trill of fear, he hoped Rhythm's lateness had nothing to do with the confrontation he'd had with the track First.

He tried to dismiss that thought and found he couldn't -- it was after all possible that whatever had prompted the confrontation had the First mad at Rhythm, or that he would take any anger at Prowl's refusal to submit out on the lower ranked car. He'd never had this problem in Praxis with Motormaster -- Prowl and the Praxan First knew where they stood with each other. Prowl had no reason to worry over Motormaster's subordinates and if Motormaster had a problem with Prowl, he came after the officer directly -- which usually got him thrown in a cell for assaulting an officer, but the interaction worked.

Worried, he didn't notice his sensory panels twitching as he made various lists, but Red Alert did. "What the frag is your problem?"

Slightly surprised the mech could focus on something other than the flows of data, Prowl didn't censor the agitation from his voice. "Rhythm should have been here by now."

Red Alert huffed. "The mech is aggravating -- you're just now noticing."

The black and white didn't bother correcting the other, just handed over one of his lists, this one with the names of several mechs -- three of Sideways' team which were on file including Sideways himself, Perceptor, and three were-cars. "Barring unforeseen circumstance, these are the mechs I need to interview today."

Implied was the question of whether Red Alert was coming or not.

The red and white shook his head in negation. "One of us needs to be here if Brawl and Backtrack are found and I'm the best coordinator," he gestured to where the networking cable attached his wrist to his console, "in the department."

Prowl could believe that.

888

He decided to see Perceptor first.

He told himself it was because the two scientists would be expecting him and he didn't want to cause them undue stress by making them wait. _Not_ because they were Rhythm's friends and might have an idea of where he was. _Or_ because, after being unable to come up with a reason other than the confrontation with the First for Rhythm's absence, he didn't trust his temper with the cars.

Prowl used the doorchime on the lab door rather than knocking.

Skyfire answered. "Prowl," he greeted, then looked up and down the corridor, looking surprised, "Where's Rhythm?"

"I don't know," he didn't let Skyfire see his disappointment, "I was hoping to speak with Perceptor."

"Of course."

The lab was much the same as it had been yesterday, with the exception that the second desk was occupied by a reddish mech inputing data into the desk's computer.

He hadn't thought it likely, but had been prepared to consider the possibility that Perceptor had been using his usual habit as a shield under which to stir up trouble, either as the killer or Backtrack and Brawl's harasser and they simply hadn't recognized him. That notion was dismissed as soon as he saw the scientist -- Perceptor was much too small a mech to fit Backtrack's description or kill in the manner the victims had been. He was in fact the size of a medium sized car, which was much too small to even be a were-tank, according to what Prowl knew.

But he knew the scientist couldn't be a were-car -- Motormaster would never have allowed a foreign car into Praxis.

"Perceptor," Skyfire called out when the red scientist didn't look up after a few minutes, "Prowl wants to talk to you."

Blue optics shuttered several times, then, "Certainly! Simply allow a moment to finish imputing this and I will be at your disposal, officer."

"I'll just take my break now, then." -- Skyfire, who then left.

Finishing his data input took less than a moment. Perceptor seemed eager to talk to Prowl. "Done! What can I help you with?"

"I simply need to know what you were doing on these nights," as with the motorcycle'shifters, he rattled off the dates of the murders.

"Recharging," was the prompt answer, then he looked embarrassed and continued, "mostly. I also drove in circles in my quarters when I was feeling too restless to shut down -- but not out-of-doors! I ..." he paused. "I get mistaken for a car, and that just causes trouble. I apologize. I don't know how I could verify that for you... it's not a very convincing alibi, is it?"

"It is acceptable."

"That is to say, when all you knew about me was that I was a were-tank, I was a possible, though, one hopes, not likely, suspect. However, now that you are here, you've decided I'm incapable of whatever method used to kill the victims due to my ... less than impressive stature."

Prowl rather hoped he would have been able to put it less bluntly, but, "Essentially. If I may ask, how...?" he trailed off.

"Hmmm ... why this is, is perhaps one of the few mysteries of my own existence that continue to elude me. I assume you know there's a size requirement for one to be susceptible to the tank specific strain of the programming virus that is most often responsible for shapeshifters." Prowl nodded and Perceptor brought one of his hands to show. Prowl noticed that the scientist had short, subtle claws, though certainly wasn't showing any other signs of his nature -- a created shapeshifter. "My builder certainly didn't want to create a shapeshifter, but the Allspark granted him a shapeshifter's spark among the others of my creche -- one that was apparently determined to be a were-tank, regardless of the shell it ended up in."

"I see." That was fascinating. Prowl had never heard of that happening before. True, the Allspark occasionally granted sparks that became a shapeshifters. Everyone knew that. But he'd thought that in those cases, the shapeshifter type was determined without fail by the tech specs of the shell. That was -- later. He still had a question for Perceptor and plenty of ground to cover today. "How well acquainted are you with the other two were-tanks?"

"Passably." He tapped his fingers on the side of the desk. "I know that Brawl works in the construction sector and Backtrack makes sculpture for the public gardens. Beyond that ... honestly, I found them rather dull to speak to. They aren't victims, are they?"

Prowl shook his head. "Right now we are trying to find them both."

"I don't believe I can help you there." No he couldn't -- the attempt had been a long shot at best. Except in the cases of a mated or bonded pairs, were-tanks were solitary.

"Thank you for your time." Perceptor returned the salutation and Prowl had reached out to open the door, then stopped. He had to ask. "Do you know where Rhythm might be today?"

"Skyfire did say he was helping you -- he hasn't contacted you? No," he answered his own question, "if he had, you would not have asked. In all probability he is tied up with his duties with the Track. He does take his duties seriously."

"Thank you."

Thoughts somewhat dark, Prowl left the lab.

tbc


	13. Part Twelve

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part twelve**

"Prowl? Sir?"

There was a nervous tremor in the unfamiliar voice. The grey were-car Prowl had seen in the tech-chess garden was waiting just inside the main entrance to the research center.

"You are Prowl right? I'm sorry for bothering you if you're not, but you look like --"

"Yes," he interrupted, figuring this mech could have gone on forever, "I'm Prowl."

The grey mech's sensory panels were twitching anxiously and Prowl couldn't help but hold his own reassuringly in response. Which did seem to calm him down somewhat. "Good. That's good, 'cause Sunny and Sideswipe dropped me off here to wait for you, but Skyfire said you were already talking to Perceptor and can I come with you?"

This was getting surreal. "Why?"

"Because we're not supposed to go anywhere by ourselves right now, so if I don't go with you I have to wait here until someone picks me up and Rhythm told me to bring you to him when you're not busy, so I think I'm supposed to stay with you."

Rhythm! "We'll go now."

"Are you sure you're not busy?" Grey sensor-panels twitched nervously again. "He told me not to bring you if you were busy."

Yes, he was busy. "Not if you will answer some questions for me along the way."

"Okay!" he responded brightly. His sensor-panels flicked up excitedly, then with an embarrassed waver flicked submissively low.

The were-cars (except Rhythm and the First) were still being weirdly submissive to him. Prowl did not allow himself to flick his own sensor-panels in irritation -- that would only upset this mech further. At least now he believed he had a good idea why.

So even though he had no idea where they might be going, Prowl led the way out. The were-car hesitantly fell into the Second's place behind him -- in fact tried trailing further behind and only came forward for ease of speaking when Prowl asked, "What is your name?"

"Oh! Sorry -- I'm Bluestreak. I should have said to earlier and -- I'm sorry. I kinda babble. You can just tell me to stop when you want to say something, or ask something, or just want me to be quiet, because I _can_ be quiet ..."

Prowl did not doubt Bluestreak was told to stop talking often. But if he let him ramble, he might tell Prowl things he wouldn't think to ask about. And it would be easier than keeping him quiet. "Two months ago," he said when Bluestreak paused, "the Track ran off a were-tank -- tell me about the incident."

"Umm ... okay. I don't know how much I can help you -- I don't know why R-First decided to drive him off. We usually don't care about the tanks, so I don't know why we cared about this one. He -- or it might have been a femme, I don't know but most femmes aren't big enough for the tank virus to take. Of course there's Perceptor, but this tank was really, really big -- maybe the biggest tank I've ever seen and red and a couple of shades of grey ... "

Bluestreak told Prowl everything he could remember, backtracking in his narritive to clarify or add a new point or leaping forward only to backtrack again, and pausing every so often to give Prowl directions to their destination. Prowl took notes on a datapad so he wouldn't miss something that was important due to the structure of the speech.

By the time they got to the housing building -- much like Brawl and Backtrack's, except designed to provide larger accommodations to smaller mechs -- Prowl was sure he knew everything that could be gained from Bluestreak's perspective of the event. He had asked some questions, mostly to keep the young -- he had to be young -- mech on topic.

The First had decided for some reason he didn't like this specific tank in his territory and the cars had all gotten together to run him off. It had been an impressive fight, but no one had been killed, though a couple of cars had to spend some time in the hospital. The two enforcers had been especially good fighters -- in fact Bluestreak had talked about the enforcers, the twins, for quite some time, with a rather dreamy expression.

Then they stood outside someone's private quarters and Bluestreak edged around him to be the one to try the intercom. Someone had apparently left the intercom circuit on, because they heard a _Crash!_ that made Prowl flinch and Bluestreak jump back. The young mech was quick to jump forward and hit the intercom button again. "Rhythm?"

A pause. "Yeah Blue?"

"Are you okay -- we heard a crash and I'm sorry If we're interrupting, but you told me to bring Prowl over when he wasn't busy and he said he wasn't busy now, but I -- "

"Blue?" Rhythm's voice interrupted, "Come in -- door's open."

Rhythm was looming over a black and white mech, who looked like he'd frozen in the middle of getting up from the floor. Neither mech acknowledged Prowl or Bluestreak's -- who'd squeaked and almost hidden behind Prowl -- presence as they glared at each other. Then Rhythm closed the distance between him and his rival -- Prowl knew the mech had to be the the silver mech's rival -- and swiped close to red optics, forcing the other to flinch without touching him.

"Outta my sight, Barricade," Rhythm growled at the black and white were-car, "Got more important things t' deal with than you."

Black and white, silver and red -- the last piece fell into place for Prowl with an almost self-satisfied _click_ and he couldn't bring himself to be surprised.

Barricade got up without looking up. The mech growled at Prowl and Bluestreak -- which made Bluestreak squeak again -- on his way out.

Rhythm turned his attention to Prowl as the door closed and smiled brightly. "Sorry I didn't go t' the station t'day. Things've just been crazy here."

Prowl resisted the urge to let his sensor-panels droop in relief. Rhythm was fine. He hadn't been forbidden from helping him or been punished for Prowl's actions. But ... "What happened?"

Bluestreak backed himself as far away from them as possible and desperately tried to become part of the wall as the higher ranked silver were-car started to pace, almost franticly. "Redline didn't come home last night, and everything's falling apart."

"Redline is your First's name?"

The other mis-stepped in his pacing in surprise, but didn't comment. "Yeah. He went after you last night. Not -- " he was quick to assure when Prowl's sensor-panels hitched, " -- that anyone blames you; talked on the comm with him once he and you were done. He was impressed with you. Said you were a bit dense, but I knew that already ..."

Rhythm was so obviously beyond worried and suddenly in Prowl's mind, he wasn't dealing with a were-car around which his every move had to be carefully measured, but a distraught mech. He did something he'd never done with a shapeshifter -- stepped forward and caught on of the mech's wrists to stop his pacing.

Unnoticed, Bluestreak squeaked again.

"Rhythm," Prowl said in a calm, insistent tone, "you have to focus. Tell me what happened."

"Yeah. Focus." his voice sounded distant as he looked at his wrist in Prowl's grip.

Realizing just what he'd done, Prowl dropped the appendage. "I apologize."

"No. It's fine."

"You are your Track's First at the moment; I should not --"

"Second." He started pacing again, but less frantically. "'Til we find a body, I'm Track Second -- no matter what games that _fragger_ Barricade plays at."

That did not excuse Prowl's lapse, but if Rhythm was not going to take offense and did not want an apology, they had other things to worry about. "Tell me what happened."

"Dunno exactly -- he and I finished gossiping about you over comms. Then a couple hours later I get a distress call -- fragging half the Track got the distress call -- and a few bytes of data. Not much, just enough t' tell he's being attacked, ambushed. Big mech, a tank or a jet from Kaon. By the time we got out there, there wasn't even a sign of a struggle."

Prowl thought for a moment. "How do you know his attacker was a shapeshifter? And from Kaon?" As much as he hated the thought, Redline had transformed into car form last night, in the city, where he could have possibly been seen, which made it much more likely this was done by a non-shifter -- religious fanaticism or hate crime, were both possibilities. And if it was a shapeshifter -- a tank -- it was coming too close to tying in with his case for comfort.

"Kaon ..." Rhythm hesitated, then retrieved a datapat and handed it to Prowl. "Kaon marks its shapeshifters, and the mark takes awhile t' get rid of. Redline sent that image with his distress call."

The picture was a bit blurry, but clearly depicted a wicked looking, stylized face embossed into a piece of a mech's armor plating. Prowl had to wonder how Rhythm knew this was a Kaonex mark ... and how he knew it took time to remove it.

He knew the answer before the question properly formed -- Rhythm, and perhaps Redline as well, had been to Kaon.

"Prowl?" There was a strange -- or perhaps not so strange, considering the situation -- sort of desperation in the were-car's voice and he gazed imploringly at the officer, "I've got no right t' ask this of you -- Please? Will you help me?"

He didn't hesitate to answer. "Come with me."

A glance to the side, proving Rhythm had not forgotten the other occupant of the room. "Bluestreak -- wait here for the twins t' come back and have them comm me. Don't go anywhere without the two of them."

"Of course. Wouldn't think of doing anything else, Rhythm ... Sir."

"Good mech."

Rhythm easily fell into the Second's place behind Prowl as they left.

tbc

note: apparently i'm still running off the momentum from last weekend's plot stick. not as frantic, but i got a lot written this week.


	14. Part Thirteen

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part thirteen**

Redline woke with his systems feeling familiarly sluggish.

For a moment he thought he was in the old pens, waking after being tranquilized and hauled out of the arena by the keepers. He tried moving his hand to reach where he knew Rhythm would be -- at his side, guarding him from the others in the pen -- whenever this happened. Just as Redline always did for Rhythm.

He couldn't move his hand.

He couldn't figure out why -- had he been injured? why was he being allowed to wake up if he was injured? He couldn't help but become more and more frantic with trying to figure out why he couldn't move, why Rhythm wasn't there? _Where was Rhythm? He should be here! _Frantic, he fought the tranquilizer -- he needed to know what had happened to Rhythm -- and panic helped burn it out of his fuel lines, finally leaving him exhausted, but mostly aware.

His memory circuits recovered from the tranq a moment later -- the pens, Rhythm, the twins, escaping, Iacon, Rhythm's officer from Praxis, the ambush.

He didn't know where he was, but it wasn't the pens in Kaon. He'd been dumped in a corner, behind some shipping crates. There was the heavy smell of copper oxide dust, suggesting this place hadn't been used in a long time, accompanied by one of stale energon drifting on the occasional breeze -- this building was probably located somewhere in the slums then. The footsteps of a mech echoed in the space -- a large space.

He hadn't been able to move his arms because they were tied behind him.

Voices -- "...care why, it has to stop."

"Wasn't last night supposed to take care of it? It's not a problem anymore."

"At least kill him."

"I will -- but first he is going to remember everything. I want him to know why he's dying. I want a victory."

Both voices were familiar. Still a bit disoriented, he didn't recognize either. One felt newer in his memory -- someone from Iacon, the memory whispered -- and the other older -- from Kaon. Kaon, Redline had tried to forget.

"Keeping him is dangerous -- more dangerous than your other habit and we _both_ know how that turned out."

A door somewhere slammed open and another mech stomped into the space.

"You copper-plated _wastes of space!_" That voice Redline knew, beyond a doubt. Barricade. "Did you have a total cognitive function _failure?_ I wanted you to distract the glitch, not _make him mad!_"

"_Pfft!_" said the voice that stirred up older memories than the other two. "We don't care what you wanted."

A were-car growl. Answered by a larger, deeper growl.

The last of the fuzziness cleared away and Redline thought _Rhythm will come for me_. Rhythm was his partner and brother, his guardian and rescuer -- he was coming.

"He's mine now -- so both of you go away."

He fingered the metal ropes, looking for the knots and other weak spots. Fight, escape, or whatever else he did, it was Redline's duty to his partner to survive.

888

Red Alert remained hardwired to his console as Prowl updated both him and Rhythm on what had been found and how Prowl saw if fit together.

Rhythm was sitting, turning a stylus over and over in his hands. One of his tires was twitching tensely with agitation and worry.

"The method of the murders was distinctly that of either a were-tank or a fairly large group of were-cars -- motorcycles are too small, jets entirely unsuited to cause this kind of damage, and a non-shifter would have had to spend enough time accomplishing this," he gestured with a datapad that contained images of the crime scenes, "that he would have gotten caught at it at least once. Since a group of foreign were-cars cannot enter the territory of another track without sparking off a territorial dispute that hasn't happened, if the Iacon Track is eliminated as suspects, that leaves a were-tank as the only possibility."

"_I'm_ still not convince they aren't suspects." Red Alert glared at Rhythm, who, for the first time since Prowl had met them both, didn't growl or glare back. He just continued to toy with the stylus.

"I am." Prowl calmly defended both Rhythm and his own position, elaborating on his reasons: "Unless it is their usual habit -- which here it is not -- a large group of were-cars in the city would have been noticed and reported, Rhythm was honestly surprised to see the images of one of the murder scenes, and finally, Backtrack provided them an alibi for the first set of murders." He tapped the datapad with Backtrack's journal."

Red Alert subsided, allowing Prowl to continue. "Also from Backtrack's journal we get a description of an unknown, large, aggressive were-tank. Who, I surmise is responsible for their disappearance somehow.

"Finally -- Redline, the First of Iacon's Track, is attacked," he put the datapad with the image from Redline's distress call on the desk where all three of them could see it, "by a were-tank or were-jet from Kaon, with a were-jet being unlikely for the same reason a group of foreign were-cars is.

"Three occurrences of an unknown tank, all in a very short time. In the cases of Redline's attacker and Brawl and Backtrack's harasser, the color of the mechs even matches -- shades of grey." He tapped the image of the black mark embossed onto grey plating.

"Three different unknowns that all happen to be the same shapeshifter type does seem farfetched," Red Alert agreed.

"Exactly."

A flickering holographic display of a rapid flip through computer files appeared over the datapad on the desk -- Red Alert using his hardline connection to run a lightning-fast search through the records -- and disappeared a moment later. "There aren't any public Kaonex records on a were-tank criminal, or even of unsolved murders like these."

"There wouldn't be," Rhythm said dully -- the first thing he'd contributed since agreeing that Red Alert would also need to know that Redline and Rhythm were the First and Second of the Track, "He's probably a glitched escapee."

Glitched? "Explain."

For a very long time, Rhythm stared silently at the stylus in his hands -- only Prowl holding his own hand out in a stay silent command to Red Alert kept him from acting on his impatience.

When the were-car did speak, he did so slowly, as though every word had to be dragged out of him. "Kaon ... ain't like Iacon. When a shapeshifter's spark is put in a shell, the mech's immediately thrown int' the gladiator pits. It's an extended death sentence. Lotta times though, there aren't enough gladiators t' run the games the audience would want. Sometimes that's solved by throwing another criminal int' the arena with a shapeshifter for a non-fatal match and letting the 'shifter pass on the virus. Sometimes, the keepers will commission a few bots from the builders and use programming from a shapeshifter t' make sure the bot's a 'shifter."

Prowl noticed Rhythm had turned his optics off as he continued, "'Bout one time outa fifty times that's done, the mech has a glitch -- uncontrollable violence when transformed int' vehicle form. And he always prefers attacking a living mech t' anything else."

"You knew someone like that?" Prowl asked softly.

"Yeah," a hollow laugh, "Me -- it ain't something that can't be fixed if the mech wants t' fix it. It ain't an excuse for this guy, but Kaon ain't gonna put anything in their records about it."

Red Alert looked as appalled as Prowl felt. No wonder Redline and Rhythm had kept their positions a secret and kept the were-cars from causing the sort of trouble Prowl dealt with as a matter of course in Praxis. They would be terrified of being locked up and possibly being sent back to Kaon.

After a moment, Red Alert spoke uncharacteristically gently. "That doesn't explain why this were-tank attacked your First."

"If ... if it's the same tank we ran off a couple of months ago, he probably knows Redline -- Redline recognized him and that's why we ran him off."

"You didn't?"

"Me and Redline hadn't always been kept in the same pen."

Prowl wanted to offer some sort of comfort, but felt wholly out of his depth to actually do so. Rhythm was miserable. Prowl didn't dare reach out to him -- that mistake had already been forgiven once, and he didn't want to make it again.

Undoubtably, the biggest comfort Prowl could offer would be to find Redline, alive, and the person responsible for this. "We know who, approximately; we need to find out where he is."

"The motorcycles," Rhythm still sounded miserable, but focused, "Little fraggers may not have seen the killings, but they're underfoot everywhere. Saw the way Wreck-Gar snubbed you -- Sideways'll know more than Arcee, but he's a Unicronian glitchmouse, and'll try and make things difficult on general principles."

"Thank you."

"They won't talk t' me or the rest of the Track. Better you go talk t' them than Sunstreaker. I'll -- I'll help Red here with finding Brawl. Can eliminate the places we use -- we woulda noticed a pair of tanks camping out in our usual areas."

Quickly, Prowl looked up the names of those of Arcee's team who were on record (which didn't include Arcee herself), then stood. The map Red Alert had been using to mark the areas searched, flickering into existence over the desk. Behind him, as he left, Prowl could hear Rhythm helping Red Alert.

tbc

notes: of course after spending so much effort cultivating some "what's happened to redline" drama, the first thing i write is redline-pov.

no double updates this week. i didn't get nearly as much written on this as i wanted. i wrote random pairing oneshots instead.


	15. Part Fourteen

okay... so maybe i lied about not having a double update this week.

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part fourteen**

"Your name is slag. You know that right?"

Ironhide watched Melanthios take that in, let it filter through his processor as he did all things and then finally respond. "What are you on about, old timer?"

Dense as ever. "Orion," Ironhide spoke at an almost insultingly slow speed, "is fragged at you."

"My brother has nothing to be so 'fragged' about."

"He doesn't? What do you call not coming home last night then? Not telling him why? Locking him off your com? And you're late ta work on top of it." Ironhide glared at his fellow bouncer. "From where I'm standing, that's plenty ta be mad about."

Melanthios glared back. "He's my bother, not my keeper."

"He's your boss too -- and you are late ta work."

Melanthios just continued to glare. Ironhide glared back, but knew it wasn't as intimidating as it was to most of the customers. Ironhide was a relatively big mech, but was not big enough to intimidate either Orion or his brother, both of whom were half again Ironhide's height. Neither were anywhere close to Skyfire's size, but Skyfire was the biggest mech Ironhide had seen.

Finally Ironhide just huffed through his vents. "He's worried for you, kid. I'm told that's what brothers do."

"Well he shouldn't. There is nothing to worry about."

Somedays Ironhide just wanted to give that mech a good shake.

888

"Good morning Redline. And how are we today?"

Redline glared at his captor -- who he refused to name, even in his thoughts -- with nearly dark optics. "It isn't morning -- it's most the way through the afternoon."

"Details, details." The red and grey were-tank waved the response away, continuing to talk in an almost wistful tone. "Look at this place, Redline. Dark, enclosed, grimy and stained. It's almost like home."

"The restraints are new."

That got him a quizzical stare, then a bark of laughter. "Of course they are. I do regret their necessity, but one thing this place does not have that home did is titanium alloy reenforced walls and forcefields to keep us from escaping. And I certainly don't want you to escape until we've settled this."

The were-car growled. "It's been settled. Remember -- that's why they finally separated us."

A fist slammed itself into the wall next to him with a _clang!_ Redline didn't flinch. He rather thought he should have. He thought he'd abandoned this mindset. He'd never been a match for Rhythm or the twins in speed or strength, but he'd once made up for it in sheer nerve. Not like the twins' almost suicidal recklessness, or Rhythm's pure ferocity, which were both attitudes that opponents expected in the arena. But Redline, for all that he'd been only a petty thief before being sentenced to the pits, had a killer's spark. He hated it. He thought he'd escaped that when he'd escaped Kaon, but it was Redline the gladiator that stared at his captor now.

The grey were-tank smiled. "No -- it's not settled. But we'll get our chance soon enough. We only need the proper setting. Something poetic."

He pulled back, turning to leave his captive alone. Lightning-fast, Redline exchanged unadorned armor and round-tipped fingers for tires and claws. In one smooth motion, despite the awkward sitting position, he clawed through the knot he'd found earlier and leaped for one of the were-tank's legs.

The tank howled in pain and rage as the smaller mech's claws found their way under the armor to shred at wiring, fluid lines and circuitry. Redline felt his victim shift and grabbed a fluid pipe and a handful of thicker wires, just before a massive red-orange hand slammed into him, sending him flying into a pile of crates.

Immediately he rolled, only a wire's breadth ahead of that same massive hand crashing into the crates.

Experienced optics judged his opponent's injury. It looked like he'd pulled a hydraulic line and a primary nerve wire out of the were-tank's leg. That would slow him, and even lock up the leg when the hydraulics lost all their pressure. If he could just --

He dodged the first shot, only to feel the next sink the tranquilizer into his systems. Right away his optics started fritzing as he fought the drug, but his systems succumbed as they always had before.

The tank's voice -- "You are lucky I want this done properly." -- was the last thing he heard before the tranq shut him down.

888

Prowl was not going to admit it, but he was getting fustrated. Arcee had as adamantly snubbed him as Wreck-Gar had and Sideways was so far living up to Rhythm's prediction to be as difficult as possible -- starting with being difficult to track down.

And he was being followed.

A casual, or even a careful watcher would not have noticed, but one, Prowl was not a casual observer, and two, the mech -- who he recognized as the red were-car he'd seen in the tech-chess park -- was making no attempt to hide the fact that he was following him from _Prowl. _He had even waved at him a few times when the officer had looked directly at him.

Sometimes the red mech was in front of him, behind him, on the opposite side of the walkway, nearly within speaking distance or nearly a city block away, making it less obvious to an observer that he was in fact following someone. Prowl had tolerated this since leaving the station. The lack of concealment of his intentions had intrigued him at first, and he did admit he was curious about his reasons.

But now -- after becoming frustrated with the lack of cooperation from Arcee and Sideways (who he, on the directions of his team, had just spend hours looking for) -- the were-car's cheerful, mostly covert tracking was quite annoying.

Much as Redline had the night before, he waited around a corner for the were-car to pass him.

But he didn't. Instead the car stalked down the street, peering into each blind area and hiding spot worriedly. And when he found Prowl's meager concealment, he grinned into the black and white's glare.

"Hey Prowl."

Prowl stalked aggressively forward with his sensor-panels raised at a confrontational angle. The red car faltered a bit, then grinned again, slouching into a stance that somehow wasn't neutral, but also neither submitting to nor challenging Prowl.

"Why are you following me?"

"'Cause Rhythm kinda told me to."

What? Prowl stopped abruptly, sensor-panels twitching in confusion.

The mech huffed exasperatedly. "Primus, Prowl, are you always this dense or are you making a special effort? Rhythm's _worried_. Redline is his best friend -- if I didn't know better, I'd say they were sparked together. He's not letting any of us go anywhere without a partner. He's even made us double up sleeping quarters. Is it that much of stretch to think he'd want you protected too?"

Rhythm was worried? Over him? Enough that he'd assigned one of his enforcers -- Prowl was sure this was one of the enforcers -- to protecting him?

"I'm Sideswipe, by the way."

"Prowl," he answered automatically, still preoccupied.

"I know." That grin turned downright devious. "I don't know why Rhythm's so smitten with you, but _Bluestreak_ thinks you're the best thing since the invention of energon treats. I'm glad Sunstreaker's partnered with him and not me, that way he's the one who has to listen the 'Prowl did this' and 'Prowl said that's." He took one, almost predatory step forward, which accompanied with almost coyly averted optics sent a deliberately mixed signal Prowl couldn't figure out how to interpret. "Instead, I get the real thing," he almost purred.

Prowl's sensor-panels flared out again and Sideswipe laughed. "Or I could just put a 'kick me' sign on one of those attractive sensor-panels, 'cause Rhythm and Blue would both be so fragged at me if I tried anything with you."

Prowl's comm system twittered for attention, saving him from having to respond to that.

Not that Nightbeat's voice was any more welcome.

"Dispatch. Report to these coordinates."

tbc

note: i have seriously been waiting the entire story to write that last line. next chapter's the one that's pushing this back to an m rating, just so y'all are forewarned.

and because stories with m ratings don't show up on the main list, i'm implementing a sorta posting schedule for any regular readers who aren't members who can just alert the story. from now on i'll only post new chapters to this on fridays. i'm not guaranteeing an update every friday, but once i've written a chapter, i'll post it on the next friday. that way if you're not a ffn member, you only have to check once a week.


	16. Part Fifteen

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance. _special chapter warning: csi style gore_

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part fifteen**

Rhythm was waiting with Red Alert outside the perimeter the drones and other police had set up. Red Alert looked irritated. Rhythm looked ... frightened.

Prowl could understand why. It may have been a foreign concept to him to think of a Track First and Second as anything but rivals, but in hindsight everything he'd seen since coming to Iacon -- from the image of Rhythm in car form driving next to his First after losing his challenge race to his open worry -- told him Rhythm and Redline were friends at least. Likely brothers or lovers as well.

And it was not much of a leap in logic to think this most recent victim might be Redline.

Behind him, Prowl heard Sideswipe produced a sympathetic whine. The red were-car stepped over to the silver, who reached and briefly ran his hand along one of the other's armor plates. Like the similar exchange with Bluestreak, Rhythm was gentle. Unlike the exchange with Bluestreak, Sideswipe _reached back_.

He flared his sensory panels in surprise -- he'd never seen a lower ranked were-car reach for a higher ranked one. The act of reaching out was inherently aggressive to the instincts of mechs that had claws as often as not, and the were-cars had ritualized that into a show of dominance and submission. Prowl knew that.

But he couldn't be witnessing a dominance display now. Sideswipe was lower ranked than Rhythm, and neither were acting correctly for this to be the enforcer making some sort of challenge. This was ... comfort, he realized. Which meant he might have to reevaluate some of the information he had on were-cars.

Later, though.

Prowl stepped over to the two, who drew slightly apart, but Sideswipe kept his hand on Rhythm's shoulder. "You two need to stay outside the perimeter."

"But Redline -- " came the expected protest.

"I'll tell you," he reassured, "but you need to stay out."

Sideswipe growled. "Don't you dare -- "

"He's right, 'Swipe," Rhythm looked pained to make that admission. "We'll stay out."

The red were-car subsided, growling that being right didn't give him the right to talk to his Second like that and Rhythm wasn't his to command. Rhythm shushed him.

"Thank you."

He turned his focus to the two junior officers guarding the laser-markers around the perimeter.

Red Alert was greeted familiarly and Prowl's comm was pinged for his identification before they were let through.

"Do you have a recorder?" Red Alert asked as they approached the scene.

"No -- I'll deal with the processor-ache to put everything on a datapad."

The red and white opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent as the victim came into view.

Sorrow and horror flooded Prowl's processor for a moment before he locked the emotions behind his logic simulator. He'd pay for doing that later, but it would be best to view the crime scene objectively.

Prowl stepped up to the scene with his usual poise. Behind him, he heard Red Alert's systems hitch -- obviously he didn't have the ability to temporarily lock down his emotional responses. It was a factor that might have to be taken into account. Or not, as the other officer had been to these scenes before.

"Recent," was Prowl's first conclusion, observing the splatters of energon, coolant, lubricant, and hydraulic fluid. The hydraulic fluid had hardened upon exposure to air -- a process that took only ten minutes -- but neither the coolant nor lubricant had started their reactive processes -- which took several hours and several days, respectively. And the energon had only just started to evaporate -- something that took an hour and a half on average.

Between ten minutes and an hour and a half since the time of death. Prowl subtracted the time it had taken him to get to the site, then the average time it took the police in Praxis -- since he didn't have that statistic for Iacon he assumed for the moment they would be comparable -- to send out a dispatch for a specific officer. From that he concluded that even if the time of death was the full hour and a half ago, the body had been there less than ten minutes before being discovered.

Daylight kill -- a second break in the pattern, the other being that this was only a few days after the previous double full moons and a couple of weeks until the double dark moons, which was the next night which forced a shapeshifter to change. That had been dangerous for the killer. "We'll need to canvass this area thoroughly. There is a seventy-three percent chance our suspect was seen this time."

Red Alert murmured an agreement from where he was recording the fluid splatter patterns. Later those images could be used to reconstruct exactly what had happened. Prowl left him to it. His simulator could accomplish that reconstruction, but if he allowed himself to start, he'd get lost in the probabilities and scenarios. Better to have a console computer do it later.

He crouched next to a larger piece of armor, spreading his sensor panels for balance. He recorded it's placement in a sticky puddle of energon and other fluids and took an image before reaching out to delicately flip it over so he could see it's paint layer.

Blue. Very faded blue that hadn't seen a repaint in a very long time. Prowl knew that when he unlocked his emotional programming, he'd feel relief on Rhythm's behalf -- it was logical that he would do so -- but for now, he only noted the detail idly.

He moved on, recording as he did so.

The mech had been completely destroyed. There wasn't a piece of him (or her, since the approximate volume of the pieces indicated a 'bot small enough to be a femme) that had been left intact. Another, smaller, piece of armor caught his attention.

He took an image of it before picking it up for a closer examination.

It was twisted and shattered like the rest of the armor pieces, but there was a long tear that went partway across the piece. A claw mark.

Prowl made a note for the medic who would eventually examine the shell to use caution as the victim may have been infected with a strain of the shapeshifter virus prior to death -- no networking with any intact circuitry. Live shapeshifters rarely passed the virus via networking, but dead circuitry wouldn't have the usual safeguards. He made a second note for that same medic to search for foreign self-repair nanites -- which layered a shapeshifter's claws for a few hours after a transformation and were the usual infection vector -- that could be matched to a suspect when they had him in custody.

This also meant that the "glitch" Rhythm had described couldn't be the reason -- or at least, not the sole reason -- this shapeshifter was killing people. A shapeshifter's vehicle form did not have claws. At least part of his attack had been carried out in primary form.

Other pieces had foreign paint smears, which was less conclusive since paint could as easily be transfered from vehicle mode armor as primary mode armor. They now had samples of the killer's paint, though, for matching. And there was a possibility -- low, less than twenty percent, but there -- the killer would have traces of his victim's paint on him when he's caught.

Careless. Later Prowl would allow himself to wonder about what could have made him careless. Now he couldn't let his simulator get caught up in questions he didn't have enough data to answer.

"Prowl. Here."

He left his careful examinations of the pieces to go to where Red Alert standing at the edge of the perimeter opposite where they left Rhythm and Sideswipe to see what had warranted the call.

A tank tread-print.

Calmly Prowl left the police perimeter to scan for traces of coolant that might indicate a second print and a direction the killer might have gone. Finding nothing, he returned for a closer look at the print.

Red Alert was busy collecting a sample from the coolant that formed the print. Prowl saw why. There was some sort of contamination that had a high probability -- ninety-three percent -- of coming from the were-tank's tread.

The two officers were very thorough in recording and searching the entire scene. By the time they were done, late afternoon and turned dark. Finally they left the perimeter to allow the cleaning and collection drones to do their work.

"Ice glitch," Prowl heard one of the junior officers mutter at his back. He dismissed the comment, like he did similar ones in Praxis. At one time they, and the ones maligning his way of dealing with shapeshifters, had bothered him, but that had been a long time ago.

Now, he needed to switch from his logic simulator to his default programming before he could start interviewing civilians, and he knew from experience that was best done in private.

tbc

note: w00t! we're finally getting into the violent, gory, slightly slashy parts of the fic. i've been warning about them the entire time and now i'm finally writing them. don't like, don't read, cause i don't want to hear it.

it's early morning where i am -- i usually like to update in the afternoon, but since i'm going to be busy most of the day, i wanted to get this out since i had it written.


	17. Part Sixteen

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part sixteen**

The only private space was in the back of the transport that had brought the cleaning drones. It was small, cramped, and smelled like old lubricant.

Prowl didn't care. He felt sick.

For the sixty-eighth time he wiped his hand against the floor of the transport. His paint was beginning to come off, but he couldn't stop. Wiping off the imaginary mech fluids was the only thing that soothed the memory of how they'd gotten there -- of callously sorting the pieces. He told himself the logical reasons and still he couldn't help but feel horrible, like he'd wronged the victim by locking up his emotions while handling his shell. But that would pass. When he allowed it to.

And yet, focusing on his own self-loathing was better than thoughts of the dead shell. It was quite possibly the messiest death he'd seen.

It didn't matter how often this happened, what pictures he saw, or how he prepared for it -- this first rush of emotions after unlocking them always overwhelmed him, turning him into a shivering wreck. It wasn't the emotions themselves -- it was the intensity that always caught him. Anger and horror always hit like a physical blow, but self-loathing lingered.

And yet... anger and self-loathing were easily dealt with by logic. Anger resolved itself at the end of a case, when the perpetrator was stopped and so was the easiest to compartmentalize behind logic. Self-loathing lingered, but he had his reasons for the wrong he always felt he committed and they would win out when he allowed them to.

Horror, though, always came inextricably tied with the question that defied logic -- why? Not just why would one mech commit such violence on another? Or why was this victim chosen? But most of all -- why was the world such that acts like this were committed?

So when the pattern of various fluids splattered across the buildings and walkway, the pieces that hadn't been of interest enough to acknowledge further than recording their positions, the empty spark casing all started to spiral his thoughts into that terrible question -- "Why?" -- he tore his thoughts away from that and deliberately brought up the memory of emotionlessly picking up a small bit of armor.

Optics off, he shuddered and wiped his hand for the sixty-ninth time.

Primus, he was tired. Everything -- the insistent fear for the lives of future victims, the continued sick uncertainty circling around Redline he'd never acknowledge, the accumulated emotions of hundreds of cases and crime scenes -- seemed tangibly attached to his frame, like his paint had been made from the core matter of a neutron star.

He was tired and he couldn't rest yet. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to.

"Prowl?" The word sounded like its speaker didn't know whether to be worried or impatient.

Optics switched on to see Rhythm crouched worriedly in front of the miserable ball of police officer. Prowl just stared at him, too distraught to remember this wasn't a position he wanted to be in relation to the were-car. A part of him cursed himself -- Rhythm's worry was another thing he could blame his logic simulator for. He never remembered others' emotions in that state -- only took them into account as cause and effect. And logically, since Rhythm hadn't been part of the crime scene, Prowl hadn't even thought of him.

He needed to remedy that, now, despite his desire for privacy. The memory of faded blue plating had him wiping his hand on the floor again.

"Prowl, was it -- ?"

"It is not Redline," he whispered, interrupting, and watched the silver mech sag in relief. Part of him was glad for Rhythm. Another part was disgusted that he could find any gladness in that mech's death. He shuddered again.

Rhythm whined sympathetically like Sideswipe had earlier and made a quickly aborted attempt to reach for him.

Too eagerly, Prowl's mind latched onto the distraction.

"How -- what would you think if I were to reach for you now?"

Rhythm looked slightly taken aback, like he couldn't quite believe the question needed to be asked. "I would think you're pretty miserable and wanting a bit of comfort." Then he slowly grasped Prowl's hand and placed it palm-down on silver plating in the gesture Prowl had always thought meant only ownership. "I would hope we're friends Prowl, and the rules are different for friends."

Friends? He allowed himself to be drawn into the smaller mech's hold, clutching at silver plating while his sensor panels were petted soothingly. He wasn't sure he knew how to be a friend.

Then the soft rumbling of Rhythm's engine relaxed him and memories, not just of this crime scene, but of countless ones, flooded him. And for the first time, Prowl was sure he was safe from drowning in that tide.

888

The next time Redline woke up, he was restrained by a pair of Kaonex shapeshifter manacles. They were uncomfortable, and uncomfortably familiar. They'd been used by the keepers when the gladiators couldn't be otherwise confined, like the rare time when the pens were cleaned. But really, his captor should have known better. Using the ropes a second time would have been more effective. Habits older than even those he'd gained as a gladiator kept him quiet, listening, as his fingers once again searched out the restraints' weak spot -- the networking plug. There were reasons the gladiators were always guarded, even when restrained.

No one had cleaned up the smashed crates, but the intact ones had been re-stacked to hide his view of the rest of the space. There were people talking. Both voices were familiar. The first he couldn't quite recognize. The second was the were-tank.

"... Starscream calls it a pulse cannon. The design takes advantage of a shapeshifter's nature. Right now he only has designs for jets and tanks, but your medic friend can add it to the others over the course of normal repairs."

"Excellent. I will deliver these to his pet as soon as possible. And the cars and motorcycles hardly matter. They're weaklings nearly on the level of those who cannot shapeshift at all."

"Then who was it that pulled out the primary hydraulic line in your leg?" Redline snickered to himself as the tank growled. "Obviously they will have they're uses. As spies perhaps."

"You are, perhaps, thinking too far ahead."

"Not at all. Kaon is an army. They lack only weapons and a leader. Weapons, they will have soon."

"And who will be the leader? You?"

"I would rather hope so."

He was really not liking the sound of this conversation now. He didn't care if someone wanted to burn Kaon to the ground, but that sounded like more expansive plans were being made. Redline found the restraints' plug. Deftly he uncoiled the networking cable in his wrist and began hacking the locking codes. First he had to hack the code that would tell the manacles' little computer he was the bigger computer in charge of registering and changing the locking codes, which wouldn't be easy. Such computers were made to be as incomparable to a mech's processors as possible just to make it more difficult to hack the manacles. It wasn't impossible, though. From there he could determine wether it would be easier to find out the current code or change it to a new one.

Redline wanted to huff his vents in derision -- both toward his captor and toward the keepers -- but didn't. His captor obviously wasn't as smart as he thought himself. Using a pair of Iaconian police cuffs to restrain Redline may have been less "poetic", but they would have been easier to acquire and couldn't be hacked at all.

"They wouldn't listen to you as you are now. I could fix that for you. I don't see why you keep refusing."

"I refuse to be a groundpounder."

"Good luck with your scientist then."

"I must go. My brother will make a fuss if I do not go home two nights in a row."

Redline switched off his optics and feigned continued unconsciousness as one of the mechs left -- he wasn't going to talk to the tank if he couldn't do some damage to him.

Symbols and numbers scrolled through his processor as he slowly unraveled the codes. He was going to have a nasty processor ache -- he hadn't been designed for data processing -- but there had been a time where that had been a near-constant, and he could ignore it. Too often, those gladiators who had been sentenced to that life from creation -- like Redline's captor -- forgot that some of their fellows had other skills.

The keepers didn't, and watched the true criminals more closely. Rhythm also hadn't, and to finally escape Kaon the two of them taken advantage of the fact that the keepers watched Redline for things like hacking locks, but not _Rhythm_. His partner had been an attentive and eager student.

He heard the were-tank's footsteps come around the crates to check on his captive. He scoffed at the weakness of cars and left Redline alone.

If Wreckage wanted to settle their feud, they'd settle it.

tbc

notes: writing for the last couple of weeks has been almost impossible due to real life. i have started the next chapter, but it will not be written in time to be updated then. the tuesday after that i'm going home for the six weeks before school starts again and most likely will not be able to write enough to keep any sort of regular updates during that time. sorry to say, if there's another update before the end of september it will quite the surprise, even to me.


	18. Part Seventeen

notes: hey look. i'm back. plus i went a rewrote the first scene of chapter sixteen, some details of which may eventually be important. plus i think it's so much better now than it was.

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part seventeen**

Canvassing the area turned up twelve witnesses -- one cowering vagrant who witnessed the murder itself and eleven residents or workers who admitted to seeing their suspect (or someone who fit his description), either before or after. With the exception of the vagrant, all had been inside or with a group of over three mechs. Combined with the evidence of carelessness at the murder scene, Prowl was forced to conclude the victim had been a kill of opportunity. One more than likely provoked by rage.

The question of rage at what or whom was one Prowl did not speak aloud since Rhythm was within hearing range.

Of all the witnesses, only the vagrant was willing to give up his memory to a mind-medic, and only then in return for the memory being subsequently erased fro his processor. That was between the witness and the medic and didn't matter much to Prowl -- what mattered to him was that the memory would provide an image of the killer, in both primary and vehicle forms, that could be inputted into the Iacon Police's skyspies and other surveillance systems.

It was nearly morning by the time they were finished and the trail ran cold somewhere in the warehouse district. Prowl knew Rhythm and Sideswipe had shadowed the two officers the entire time and back to the station, but hadn't seen either of them since Prowl had been able to assure Rhythm he was fine after his breakdown.

A small misstep due to low energy levels had Rhythm catching him around the waist. Sideswipe made as if to support his other side, but backed off when Rhythm growled.

Which, Prowl thought distantly, wasn't very logical. Not Sideswipe backing off -- that was logical. He'd been warned off by a superior. Rhythm refusing to let Sideswipe help -- that was not, especially in light of the height difference he was re-realizing existed between him and Rhythm. Awkward.

Red Alert frowned at the two were-cars and at Prowl's acceptance of their -- or rather Rhythm's -- help, but hadn't yet commented. He seemed too tired to expend the energy on protesting just yet.

With the dayshift of officers and admins gone, leaving only guard-mechs, the few nightshift officers and cleaning drones, the station was very quiet. As Rhythm helped him into a chair, Prowl couldn't help but be relieved by that fact. He had one last thing to do before he could drop offline for a few hours and noise would make it that much more unpleasant.

He'd just started clearing a datapad to download the crime scene images onto when Red Alert spoke up. "I need to speak with Prowl. There's an Energon dispenser in the conference room -- through that door."

Rhythm bristled tiredly, causing Sideswipe to do the same, but then glanced at Prowl. Prowl was sure to not communicate anything to the were-car -- the relationship between him and Rhythm had changed and he didn't know the proper responses, and so defaulted to not responding at all -- but he still acquiesced, saying, "Comm me when you're done. You probably need t' refuel before you try transferring those files."

He pinged Prowl's comm to leave behind his personal code, then left, grabbing Sideswipe, whose struggles against the much smaller mech had to be for comical effect, and dragging him to the indicated door.

Red Alert didn't waste time and looked directly at Prowl. "What's going on?"

The question was slightly vague and Prowl immediately had a dozen answers. None of which, he was sure, had been answers the other wanted. "Clarify."

"Between you and that -- that Unicron-tainted pain in the aft! Don't think I didn't notice: before the scene, you wouldn't have touched him for anything short of arresting him, and short of him assaulting you, you wouldn't have let him touch you. After you couldn't turn around without slapping him with a sensor-panel. What is. Going. On?"

Prowl let said sensor panels sag a bit. He was exhausted and he didn't want to deal with answering Red Alert's questions, Not when he wasn't exactly sure of the answers and their implications. Plus he wasn't sure how much was appropriate to disclose to the other officer, either from a were-car perspective and a friend perspective.

He finally settled on, "I've found that some of my information on shapeshifters needs revising."

The read and white stiffened. "The case --?"

"Nothing that affects the case," he assured,"It's just," he paused, searching for the correct word, "personal."

That got him a huff of vents. "You shouldn't get _personally_ involved with Rhythm and his miscreants. It'll just make arresting them harder."

"They aren't suspects."

"_This_ time, but they're trouble makers, Prowl. I'm lucky if I can go a week without having to haul either a were-car or a were-motorcycle in for trespassing, destruction of property, dangerous recklessness, fighting, or who knows _what_ else." By the time he was finished, Red Alert was nearly screeching.

"I am not surprised."

"Then how can there be a personal problem -- it's a conflict of interest!"

"Quiet," Prowl admonished when he realized Red Alert would only yell louder, "or they will hear you even in the other room. For one, I am as aware as you are of the trouble were-cars cause -- Motormaster and Crankcase, the First and Second of the Praxis track, don't even have the incentive to behave Redline and Rhythm do. Second, as soon as our suspect is caught, Nightbeat will relieve me of authority in Iacon and anything Rhythm and his Track do will no longer be within my jurisdiction. There is no conflict of interest."

"That doesn't mean anything," Red Alert hissed, "They're _were-cars_ -- why would you even want to?"

Prowl's sensor-panels betrayed the surprise he otherwise managed to hide. Red Alert's attitude wasn't particular surprising. Prowl would have had to be blind, deaf, and without any deductive capabilities at all to have missed that Red Alert had some issues with shapeshifters, but he'd thought the source had been his professional conflicts, not the base prejudice found in most Cybertronians.

"They're mechs," Prowl said firmly. He had never approved of his race's prejudice. The 'cursed by Unicron' excuse was based off the writings of mechs, who themselves were prejudiced and nothing else even pretended to have a logical basis. "They're programmed and modified differently than other mechs, but you and I both have modifications and programming that make us different from other mechs as well."

Red Alert scowled in response, but didn't refute the point. Hopefully that meant he'd think about it rather than dismissing it.

Prowl chose to ignore the question of why he might want a friendship with Rhythm. As far as he was concerned, this was an issue of the were-car wanting a friendship with him and he being unable to come up with a reason to deny him that didn't sound like Red Alert's reasons. Prowl did not _want_ a friendship. Prowl would not _let_ himself want a friendship.

So he and Red Alert stared at each other slightly awkwardly. Neither had responded properly to the other, leaving the conversation unfinished. But neither wanted to continue it either, so the conversation was finished.

The awkwardness was interrupted by the console beeping to inform them that the datapad Prowl had started clearing was finished reformatting. Red Alert huffed and plugged his networking cable into the console as Prowl unplugged the datapad, both returning to work.

Then Prowl's systems warned him that he needed to replenish his energy reserves before attempting any networking for any reason. He remembered Rhythm's offer to bring energon and sent a short comm to the other. Had he been less tired, he would have realized Rhythm probably wouldn't understand the Praxan police code for "all clear."

Fortunately, about the time he realized his mistake, Rhythm commed back with a playful, lightly-encrypted "coming."

Rhythm and Sideswipe were both carrying a pair of cubes. Sideswipe did not look happy as they set them in the middle of the desk. Reflexively, Prowl noted the nuance -- where they'd been placed, the energon was in a neutral spot, closer neither Prowl nor Red Alert. A communal pile, at least until Rhythm casually slid two of the cubes closer to Prowl -- providing energon for both officers, but only interacting with Prowl while doing so. Prowl filed that away as he thanked Rhythm. He'd figure out how that expressed the tangle of dominance and relationships of the four later, after he had rested.

Energon was a relief to his tired systems. For a moment, Prowl considered drinking the second cube, then decided to save it for after.

Deftly he connected the networking cable in his wrist to the reformatted datapad.

All Cybertronians were physically capable of networking with a computer, but few had the programming that would make it an easy or pleasant experience. Most used the standard networking cords and equipment almost exclusively to network with other Cybertronians. Those in the higher levels of the government or military who had to connect to door locks to unlock them on a regular basis learned to either tolerate or isolate the pain caused by the incompatibility of mechs and computers.

Prowl was no hacker -- someone who had taught himself the nuances of connecting to a computer safely and relatively easily -- nor was he designed for networking like Red Alert. So as usual the connection overwhelmed his other senses and didn't register on his memory. And as usual, when he disconnected, everything hurt.

"C'mon," Dimly Prowl felt strong arms pull him out of the chair and into some semblance of a standing position. He had the blurry reflexive deduction that since Rhythm was shorter than him, the person nearly carrying him had to be Sideswipe. He onlined his optics to check -- Sideswipe was red... right? "Let's get you somewhere you can shut down." But that was Rhythm's voice.

Outside Prowl got an impression of yellow with a voice that growled and hissed like a feral cyber-cat, but Rhythm's voice was the only thing he could concentrate on. "-- sure he gets home, then pick up 'Blue from wherever you left him. 'Swipe and I are taking the police-mech t' our place, 'less he wakes up enough t' object, so don't be surprised, got it?"

Yellow growled as Sideswipe hitched Prowl higher in his grasp with a cheerful response and followed Rhythm away.

And no matter how much Prowl tried to prove he could walk, or at least give the were-cars directions to the temporary quarters he was renting, he only became more and more limp in Sideswipe's hold.

Then finally blacked out all together.

tbc

notes part two: the good news is that my muses for were-cars have not abandoned me and i will be finishing this fic. the bad news is that, for me at least, writing fanfic was a substitute for many of the things i lost when i moved, and in the last two weeks have managed to gain access to again. So my time and energy is mostly going back into those and thus will not be updating this very fast at all anymore. and probably will not start any new fics for a very long time.


	19. Part Eighteen

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance. _mentions of slash in this chapter._

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part eighteen**

Sometime after his energy reserves had replenished themselves, the temperature of his recharge plate woke him up. It was set to exactly his systems' temperature, which was two degrees cooler than his preferred.

The first thing he did was consult his chronometer to find out how long it had been since he'd dropped offline. He'd been offline the entire workday and it was night again. Unsurprisingly, if his memories of the state he'd been in at the time were at all accurate. The second thing he did was online his optics to find out why he was in a recharge plate that wasn't set at his most comfortable temperature.

These definitely weren't either the temporary quarters he was staying in in Iacon or his quarters in Praxis. There was another recharge plate, this one empty, across the room and the walls were decorated in a clashing mix of music-themed stuff and racing paraphernalia -- both that put out by the official were-car and were-motorcycle racing circuits in Vos and Khalis, and the drone races in Iacon and Praxis.

This had to be Rhythm and Redline's recharging room. He recalled Rhythm's voice saying he was taking Prowl to his place and few mechs who weren't weres collected the merchandise put out by the racing circuits. But Prowl couldn't figure out why Rhythm wasn't on the other recharge plate.

Dismissing the concern with a flick of sensor-panels as being something that he'd either find the answer to later, or not as more information became available.

He left the room, searching for either Rhythm or a cube of energon the were-car might have left out for his guest.

Immediately he revised the estimate he'd made on his previous visit of how big Rhythm's flat was. Before he'd thought the single common room had been connected to a single private recharge area. But instead of the door out of the recharge room leading directly to the common room, it led to a short hallway with three more doors.

One led to a storage closet. One led to another recharge area. Inside the two enforcers lay curled up on a single large recharge plate with the young grey were-car, Bluestreak.

Only Prowl's supreme self-control kept him from making some sort of noise that, along with being very undignified, would have woken the three. As it was the yellow enforcer flicked an optic on and growled his engine lowly. Remembering how Sideswipe had so carefully been neither submissive nor aggressive when dealing with Prowl, he carefully bowed in what he hoped the were-car would interpret as a non-subissive apology and closed the door.

He was not going to think about what he'd just seen. Even though it hadn't occurred to him earlier to wonder, that did explain why the very low-ranking Bluestreak was always personally running his Second's errands, and maybe why -- no, not thinking about it. It was a private matter Prowl had been as much as told to stay out of.

The third door had to lead to the common room.

Prowl froze. A car sat in the middle of the room, silver chrome gleaming in the inky gloom of the room, a stark contrast to the light-eating blackness of its wheels. Energy conversion picked up in Prowl's fuel lines and his muscular cables tensed, ready to flee the threat the sudden thrumm of fear in his processor insisted was there.

He had nowhere to flee to, though, and that single moment of hesitation was enough for his logic processor to take over and analyze the situation.

That car was Rhythm -- it matched the Second in the holograms Red Alert had showed him of the Iacon Track from the last double full moons -- and he was in no danger from Rhythm. He had the suspicion that he should be questioning the reasoning behind that certainty, but the knowledge was as solid as the planetary surface to Cybertron and his logic processor refused to question it further.

Further, his logical programming insisted to that spark-deep bit of fear, the car was too quiet to all his sensors to be anything except recharging. Or in a stealth mode of some sort, but most stealth modifications made a mech run quieter than this car was currently doing.

He held himself in logic's grip for the question of waking Rhythm and the only objection was that it was likely -- eighty-four percent likely -- the were-car had spent the day dealing with a Track becoming increasingly more rebellious, if Barricade's confrontation was a symptom of any part of the Track's attitude toward Redline's disappearance. Based on the number of cars he'd seen in the holograms, if only one in ten were-cars sided with Barricade on the issue, Rhythm would still have a major rebellion on his hands.

He'd just decided to check to see if Rhythm or one of the enforcers had added Prowl to the authorized list for the energon dispenser before waking the recharging car, when the car's engine purred to wakefulness.

That illogical fear attempted to flare again, but couldn't reach past the emotional distance provided by his logic processor.

The car shifted and his headlights blinked on. In another frame of mind, Prowl would have compared it to flicking optics on. In this frame of mind that comparison didn't get past the knowledge that weres in their vehicle forms were optic-blind and relied on their other sensors.

Then the car changed. Prowl had to delete seven separate attempts by his logic simulator to figure the twists and changes in the transformation or risk crashing his system.

Despite knowing this was Rhythm, though, after the change, it took a moment to fully recognize him. His profile had changed. The tires and other signs of being a were-car had been hidden in the change, leaving only a set of short, subtle claws like those of the enforcers.

"Sorry," was Rhythm's greeting, "didn't think y'd be up this soon, or I'd've been in mech-form."

Rhythm knew the effect vehicle-forms had on a mech's programming, was the last conclusion Prowl's logic simulator drew before he shut the subroutines down. He almost staggered when the usual rush of emotion didn't come. There was only the fear -- rapidly fading with the "threat" removed.

"It wasn't a problem." And it hadn't been. It might of been if Prowl had been another mech with different programming, but for him it hadn't been. Rhythm shrugged in response but didn't shift into his normal profile.

"Y'hungry?" He didn't look at Prowl as he headed to the energon dispenser.

Prowl nodded. Rhythm was acting off. Awkward, where Prowl had become used to smoothness from him. Even when the were-car had been explaining what had happened to Redline and asking for help, he hadn't been awkward with Prowl. He had to wonder wether it stemmed from the fact that Prowl had just spent the night -- or day, rather -- recharging in his room, or having been caught in car-form. Or both.

"Why didn't you use the other recharge plate?" he asked as he was handed one of the two cubes of energon. It would have been more comfortable than staying in the common room.

"S'Redline's." And as long as Rhythm was avoiding taking Redline's place as Track First, using his plate would be inappropriate.

He wanted to ask about how the enforcers' relationship with Bluestreak worked out in the dominance structures of were-cars, but didn't dare. He'd never seen any evidence of similar relationships among Motormaster's Track, but after discovering this one understood that that didn't mean that they didn't exist. It just meant that such things were kept out of the sight of non-Track members.

It continued to be awkward while they both drank their cubes. Prowl wasn't a socializer by nature and didn't know what could be done to allay the tension. And Rhythm was the one who was tense and nervous.

But Prowl also didn't have a lot of time to waste being awkward either. He stood. "I need to go to the station to check on the lab reports."

"'Course. I'll wake up Sunstreaker t' go with you." Prowl nodded. "Can't go with you t'night. Barricade and his cronies were causing all sorts of trouble earlier and I need some more recharge."

So Rhythm did have a rebellion on his hands.

"One of these days," Rhythm muttered quietly that the words were more picked up by Prowl's sensor panels than his audios, "I ain't going t' have a choice 'cept t' tear the fragger t' shreds."

Prowl pretended he hadn't heard him.

"Rhythm," he called just before the were-car entered the hall, "I preferred the tires." And he did.

Like that all Rhythm's tension drifted away, and Prowl could hear the clicks and whirrs of a partial transformation as he disappeared into the hall.

888

"You're late," was Red Alert's greeting as Prowl let himself past the partitions around the other police mech's desk. The other acknowledged neither the fact that Prowl had spent the recharging cycle with the were-cars nor the big yellow mech who shadowed Prowl's every move. Prowl hoped that meant Red Alert had thought about the argument they'd had last night and was starting to change his opinion.

"If I was late," Prowl responded, "someone would have commed me to wake me up."

Red Alert just shrugged and went back to co-ordinating the search for the two tanks.

Prowl used two of the holographic displays of the computer's. With one, he sent a request to the medics in charge of cataloging the body and copying the memory of the witness.

The report on the witness came back right away. Two images that had been uploaded into the department's sky spies and a complete image file of the murder itself. Along with a notation that the medic had agreed to the witness's desire to have the memory removed from his banks and that the witness would be useless from here outward.

The medic who was examining the pieces of the dead mech and the rest of the crime scene data only sent a "When I'm done, you'll be the first to know" in response. From experience, Prowl knew that when a medic couldn't interface with what was left of the victim's systems because the mech was a shapeshifter or a carrier of the shapeshifting virus, the examination took nearly twice as long.

So while he waited he used his personal access code to request some information from the Praxan Police records.

He found that in the city's entire recorded history only three officers had ever managed to arrest a shapeshifter in its vehicle form. Prowl, Skyrise and ... Makeshift. Every other officer, when faced with a shifter in vehicle form either froze, or shot to kill.

Prowl remembered his arrests well. Either he'd been running his logic simulator as a background program to assist is tactical planing at the time and managed to trap the shifter until he or she resumed mech form, or the perpetrator had been hanging around a crime scene he'd been examining. He'd always thought the rush of fear that came with the rest of the emotions when he shut down his logic simulator was just the fear of having been in a life-threatening situation.

He knew the names of the other two officers as well. He'd heard of Skyrise during his education before becoming a police officer. Skyrise had been a shapeshifter -- one of the very rare helicopter-shifters. The system requirements for being susceptible to the helicopter strain of the shapeshifting virus were so rare the virus was considered non-transmissible. Every recorded helicopter had been a created shapeshifter. There was no reason for the relatively unbiased Praxan Police department to keep him out of the force. And Skyrise had proven exceptional at dealing with shapeshifter crime. A shapeshifter wouldn't fear other shapeshifters.

Makeshift, however ... Prowl hadn't known before now that he'd been an officer. Makeshift was cited in Prowl's design specs as one of the programmers responsible for the operating system installed in him and his creche-mates. Prowl also knew that that operating system had been scrapped because three of his nine creche-mates had been shapeshifters (rather than the average of one shapeshifter for every eighty ten-mech creches) and faulty programming was blamed for it.

As his request to the medic on the other display flashed to say the lab reports were finished, Prowl put in a request for Makeshift's records, then logged off the Praxan networks, to read the lab's results.

"Found them."

The sudden sound startled Prowl from his reports -- there had been enough foreign self-repair nanites in the victim to match when they had a suspect in custody; the coolant from the tread-print was the victim's and the contamination was another mech's hydraulic fluid mixed with metal dust (85 percent copper oxide, 20 percent tin oxide, four percent iron oxide, and one percent other metals) which he ran through the database looking for a similar mix -- into looking up at Red Alert. Sunstreaker, who'd been leaning against a partition, in a light recharge, jerked awake with a growl.

Red Alert brought up a holographic sky spy image of a section of the wilderness then overlaid it with one of Brawl's maps, showing there was a debris cave in the area. Then overlaid it again with images sent by several of the ground searchers of activity in the area. "Here."

Prowl stood and gestured for Red Alert to follow him (in the Second's place for Sunstreaker's benefit, not that the surly yellow were-car seemed to care). Several of those images had been of tank treads, and Prowl didn't need his logic simulator to figure out that either Brawl or Backtrack were very likely to be in their tank-forms. And if Prowl wasn't completely off base with his new information on the effects shapeshifter vehicle-forms had on non-shifters, confronting the two were-tanks was something that he had to handle personally.

He was beginning to suspect it was what he'd been designed for.

tbc

notes: look. i'm back. kinda. if i keep going at this pace, the next one'll be out sometime during spring break...


	20. Part Nineteen

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part nineteen**

The two police mechs and Sunstreaker rode a police transport out to the site. Along the way, Prowl did his best to impress on both Red Alert and the searchers the importance of staying away from the the two tanks and their hiding spot. They were witnesses and not suspects, but if they were in their tank forms, the situation could get chaotic, to say the least, fast.

He was glad to have found that his orders had been obeyed, by the searchers. Prowl wasn't sure that Red Alert or Sunstreaker would follow them, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment.

The lead searcher, a mech named Ransack according to a quick ping of his communications system to get his identification, nodded to Prowl and Red Alert as they got off the transport. He sent a quizzical look at Sunstreaker, but didn't comment, focusing on the two Police mechs.

"As you ordered, Sirs. Minimum distance has been maintained from the cave and no attempted contact with the two subjects."

"Good," Prowl answered. He did a quick scan of the area, picking up the signatures of the mechs in the area, as well as the terrain. He compared the scan with the satellite images Red Alert had provided to orient himself and started in the direction of the cave. Red Alert stayed behind to coordinate the searchers' withdrawal from the area, but Sunstreaker followed Prowl.

Prowl looked at him, aggressively. "Stay, Sunstreaker. I don't want them spooking because I'm being accompanied by a were-car."

The yellow car scoffed rudely. "You are not one of my Track, to order me around. Rhythm told me to protect you and that's what I'm going to do."

"I do not want to start a fight here."

Sunstreaker growled. "I won't. We never bothered them and they never bothered us."

Prowl did his best to growl back. He had lots of practice with Motormaster and, while it wasn't perfectly like a were-car's growl, it was close enough to get the point across - he was dominant and would not submit to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker only grinned nastily and growled louder. "You are not one of my Track," he repeated. "I don't need to do what you say."

"Don't you?" Prowl replied. "Your Track's Second, in the position of temporary Track First, has put me in charge of all aspects of this investigation and promised me the cooperation of all the were-cars. But if you choose to press the issue," Prowl flicked his sensor-panels aggressively high, "I will warn you that I have fought were-cars who were bigger, tougher and meaner than you."

For a very long moment they stared at each other, growling, waiting for the other to back down. Prowl could see that the nearby mechs were preparing for it to come to a fight and he transmitted a 'No weapons. Don't interfere.' command across the police channels. Prowl himself was preparing for it to come to a fight. His sensor panels were focused on Sunstreaker, primed to pick up on any vibration that may be either a precursor to attacking or transforming - Sunstreaker had claws even when showing no other were-car traits. If he started to transform, Prowl would have to react fast to keep from being causing a panic or being infected.

Finally, the yellow car scoffed rudely again. "Bigger I'll believe, but tougher and meaner I won't."

Then he abruptly turned around and went to lean on a nearby rock to sulk.

Prowl couldn't stop a sigh of relief before turning back to the cave.

It was dark inside, and Prowl had to take a moment to adjust his optics to it. He also took the moment to begin running his logic simulator as a background program the way he usually did to assist in tactical planning.

The cave was fairly large and deep and as he moved further in he noted the signs of habitation - neatly stacked full cubes of energon of various types, discarded empty cubes, a pair of book files, and some scattered medical supplies. He bagan running a comparison between the items here and the items he'd earlier noted as missing from Brawl and Backtrack's quarters. The matched with a eighty-three percent accuracy, which was well within the margin of error allowed by the fact that Prowl did not have a complete inventory of what had been in their quarters before they'd been ransacked. Conclusion-one of the occupants had taken the items from their own quarters.

Soon his sensor panels began picking up the sounds of a recharging mech. Only one though, which made him speculate on the location of the second mech he was expecting. He'd just decided, based on an analysis of the cave's structure, that it was bigger than the satellite image had implied and the unheard mech was deeper in the cave, when he found the first were-tank.

From the coloring, it was Backtrack rather than Brawl. And she was in her tank-form. She was also injured. He stepped closer and the tank's engine rumbled to wakefulness.

Prowl felt himself start to panic, but like earlier with Rhythm, it didn't manage to get through the shielding against emotions his logic simulator gave him. This time, however, he did move into a precautionary battle mode - unlike Rhythm, Backtrack may be inclined to harming an intruder into her lair. "I am Prowl, a member of the Praxis police department. I have been temporarily given authority in Iacon. You are a witness, not a suspect."

His logic simulator couldn't come up with anything else that might dissuade the tank from attacking.

The tank only growled weakly and twitched on her treads. The growled turned into a pained whine and Prowl surmised that her injuries were too much for her to move much or transform to primary form.

He contacted Red Alert...was about to ask for a medical team and warn that Backtrack was injured in tank form and couldn't shift back, but was interrupted: "Primus!" and he heard the growl of an angry shapeshifter, loud enough to be heard over Red Alert's internal comm, then, "Sunstreaker - out of our line of fire you yellow glitch!"

"Weapons DOWN!" Prowl ordered over an open channel as he darted out of the cave.

His tactical programs started analyzing the scenario even before he had fully exited the cave. Sunstreaker and a tank in Brawl's colors were facing off in their vehicle forms. Most of the remaining search teams were scrambling away as fast as their legs could carry them and the few who weren't were frozen in place, paralyzed by the fear of being near two angry shapeshifters in their alternate forms. Only Red Alert had his weapon out and aimed and Prowl could see that he was trembling - Only Prowl's order was keeping him from firing.

Sunstreaker, in the form of a bright yellow car was circling the much larger sand-colored tank. Both were growling and howling and as he watched, Prowl saw Brawl lurch forward to attempt to run the smaller 'shifter over, only to have Sunstreaker dart from in front of Brawl and swerve into the side of the tank's treads, sending bits of thin tank-armor flying in all directions.

Tactics and plans were forming in Prowl's processor, clattering into place, lightning fast. He ducked under the shrapnel from Sunstreaker's blow and ran to Red Alert, snatching the other officer's gun. Panicked blue optics focused on him and Prowl took advantage of the attention. "Get yourself and the others out of here!"

With a shaky nod, Red Alert obeyed, all to glad to have the sanction to run away from the cause of the spark-deep fear. Prowl kept and optic on him until the red and white had made his way over to Ransack and convinced the other mech to run, satisfied that now he only had to deal with the two shapeshifters.

He knew without looking that the police-issue weapon he held - the same as the ones used in Praxis - would either glance harmlessly off the tank's armor or shred it more than he wanted. A car, however, would be paralyzed for several seconds and had more to fear from the gun. Prowl line up his shot and fired.

The shot hit the ground in front of Sunstreaker, causing the yellow car to swerve and spin out. The tank also flinched, even though it hadn't hit anywhere near Brawl. New plans clattered into place in his processor and consulted his internal map. He shot again.

Brawl flinched and Prowl began using the gun to herd the tank into a small ravine. Sunstreaker recovered from his spin-out and saw what Prowl was doing. With an angry growl he began buzzing the tank, threatening him with a collision if he didn't keep moving in the direction the two herders wanted him to.

Then Brawl was cornered in the ravine and Sunstreaker circled around Prowl coming to a transforming halt with a snarl in the Second's place behind Prowl. Prowl ignored him.

"Brawl," he called. "Right now you've not done anything I would arrest you for. We're the ones that have invaded your sanctuary and you have the safety of your injured Bonded to think about."

The were-tank growled.

"My designation is Prowl. I am an officer for the Praxan Police given authority here in Iacon to catch a shapeshifter criminal. You and Backtrack are right now protected witnesses in this case. Now, transform and allow me to call a medical transport and a team of un-sparked medical drones and we'll get Backtrack to the medical center."

With another growl, Brawl transformed. He snarled. "The medics'll take one look at her and just slit her energon lines."

Prowl didn't flinch. "Which is why I was going to call for un-sparked drones. The medical centers keep them for these exact situations. And if she hasn't been able to transform back by now, she needs the attention of at least a medic-drone if not a full medic."

With one last growl, Brawl acquiesced. Prowl nodded. He called the medics and went to find Red Alert. He needed to convince the other officer not to arrest Brawl, then he needed to shut off his logic simulator. In private.

tbc

okay...really am back now. and, if i have any readers left, i would like to apologize for my absence on this story. i'm sorry. i have a number of reasons for the long delay, but no real excuse. first and foremost is that my old computer crashed a few months after my last post. it was irreparable and i almost immediately got a new one, but it of course did not have any of the things i'd had on the old one - like story notes, outlines, character profiles, unpublished side stories and this mostly-written chapter. unlike some, whom i am very envious of, i can't just pick up and rewrite things from scratch. so while i occasionally reread this trying to get up the motivation to go forward, i couldn't without all that extra information i'd had that wasn't in the story as it is on the site. so i am apologizing to all of you for this very long period of nothing being done.

now...as to why i'm able to continue now: well, i was pretty sure that the way my computer crashed probably left its hard drive was intact and hung onto the stupid thing. a few weeks ago i finally managed to get someone to pull out the hard drive and hook it to a usb port so i could access all the information on it. and low and behold! all the information was intact.

so i will be finishing this. it is not dead. it will take me a while to pick up everything and continue (this chapter having the decency of being mostly written when i lost it, it didn't take me long to get it out), but i will.

and to whoever's left: thanks for sticking with me for so long.


	21. Part Twenty

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance.

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part twenty**

Ironhide scoffed. Melanthios wasn't at work and he could see Orion was worried. The other bouncer was acting more and more unreliable and Ironhide could see the toll it was taking on his boss.

And unfortunately that wasn't the only thing going on. Skyfire was sulking in the corner without his partner. Perceptor was doing his best to distract the other scientist, but was bushed off with a hiss. Trouble in paradise, Ironhide thought. He couldn't remember the last time the two were-jets hadn't been in accord...at least publicly.

Add that to the fact that he hadn't seen a were-car come in since he'd been asked to introduce the police-mech to the "gaggle" of motorcycle-'shifters and Ironhide had all to clues he needed to figure out that something big was going on. He just hoped, for Orion's sake, Melathios wasn't involved.

At least without the cars or Starscream at the bar, the rest of Iacon's shapeshifters couldn't cause any trouble that Ironhide alone couldn't take care of.

888

Prowl was still running his logic simulator when they reached police headquarters. Currently the advance tactical planning programs were engaged in how to evade Sunstreaker long enough to come down from the emotional overload he knew he suffer. Or barring that - a way to conceal what was happening from his two companions. This hadn't been a crime scene after all - there wouldn't be the spark-shattering horror and guilt, just the fear and rage of having been in a fight.

Brawl had refuse to leave Backtrack's side. Which was fine with Prowl, he didn't need him to. After the were-tank had confirmed that the killer was the same mech who'd attacked him and his bonded, he could do whatever he liked, as far as Prowl was concerned.

Prowl had of course not allowed Brawl to be arrested for attacking the police, saying that it was hardly his fault they had intruded on what was supposed to be a safe hiding spot for his injured bonded. It helped that, thanks to Sunstreaker, none of the police present had been injured.

That did not mollify Red Alert, but as Prowl uploaded Brawls statements into the red and white mech's computer, he did a comparative search for similarities in law between Praxis and Iacon, which came up with some fairly interesting results. Prowl added "assault with evidenced intent to kill" to the list of charges to eventually be brought against the Kaonex tank. He saw Red Alert's optics flicker as his attention was brought to the changed file and Prowl added several other charges, including "attacking a police officer" with a notation to the specific law that stated that by injuring Backtrack severely enough that she couldn't transform back to primary, their killer was also responsible for the situation that had developed when she was found.

Red Alert only grunted, but Prowl could see that he was satisfied that someone would be held responsible for Brawl's attack, even if under the circumstances Brawl wasn't going to be.

With a sigh, Prowl watched Red Alert run searches on the dust composition. That dust had been brought to the crime scene by the killer, not local to that area. Prowl had expected the mixture to have hundreds of different possible sources recorded in the database - copper, tin and iron being some of the most common building materials used on Cybertron, and thus the oxides of those metals some of the most common components to dust - but the other mech was once again showing his programmed talent with computer systems by managing to narrow it to only a handful of possible sources. Prowl noted that he had to have run the search once already - getting the hundreds of results Prowl would have expected - and was now narrowing it further based on what did not show up in the mixture.

Logical. Prowl's estimation of Red Alert went up a notch once again. He watched the holographic display bring up a possible source of those metals in the dust, compare it to the sample and find something missing from their sample from the comparison, discard that possible source, and move onto the next - all within seconds. Prowls could and had run such searches while working on cases, but he could never get them narrowed down enough to be immediately useful. Days, instead of the minutes it was taking Red Alert.

Prowl was...satisfied, for the moment, and would probably feel glad once he shut off his logic simulator. Right now they had everything they needed to identify their killer and kidnapper when they found him, including the fact that the tank was not an Iacon native, and Prowl estimated the likelyhood of him being in the city's database to be approximately 6.73 percent, so that dust was 93.27 percent likely to be the only thing they had that could give them a possible location for their killer.

Still - longshots occasionally panned out. And there was no logic in skipping a step just because the odds were low. He inputted as detailed a description of the tank as he could manage: size, based on some of Backtrack's injuries; color, from the descriptions he'd gotten from Brawl, Backtrack's journal, and Rhythm, including the presence of the Kaonex shapeshifter brand; and a partial manufacturer's code, taken from the self-repair nanites that had been recovered from the crime scene.

Then he settled in to wait until the medi-center called him to let him know that Brawl and Backtrack were able to receive visitors. He doubted his search - very slow in comparison to Red Alert's - would find anything.

He settled in to wait, shutting off his optics, his vocal processor and motor controls - and to all appearances going into a light power-save mode.

In truth, he finally released his logic programming and settled in for a silent emotional breakdown.

888

Prowl's search was beginning to get back it's initial results when he got the notification from the medi-center that Brawl and Backtrack were ready to talk, though Backtrack would not likely be doing much talking. He and Red Alert were approaching the private room Brawl and Backtrack were in when Red Alert stopped and tilted his head.

"Prowl." Red Alert's optics were flickering, "My computer just notified me that my search programs have narrowed possibilities for the source of that dust to only ten that are above eighty percent likely, with only three of those above ninety percent likely."

Prowl nodded. "We'll check them out as soon as we are done here."

Red Alert made a sound of agreement and stepped in front of Prowl to open the door panel. Sunstreaker started to growl, but subsided at Prowl's admonishing look.

Brawl was sitting next to Backtrack. The medi-drones had managed to get Backtrack back into her mech-form, and Prowl could see no trace of claws on either of them.

"You want to know what happened." The words were a statement from Brawl, rather than a question. Backtrack still looked weak enough that she would be doing little except listening and perhaps adding a detail or two.

"Yes," was Prowl's simple response.

The big were-tank grunted. "There ain't much room for a pair of tanks - too many cars around here, so there ain't much usable wilderness unclaimed by them. They don't bother us, but a newcomer's got to wrestle his space from the track before he'll be left alone for the moons. We managed. We figured that's why red, grey and ugly was harassing us - especially once we found out he'd already confronted them and got his skidplate kicked in."

Backtrack whistled agreement, as Brawl paused. He put his hand on her shoulder plating before continuing. "He was mean and had thicker armor than you see around here. Combat-built, but crazy. Thought he could be from Vos - they let 'shifters join the military there, especially tanks, 'cause we don't do politics among ourselves - but they kill crazies out there too and this one was definitely that." He shrugged and Backtrack managed to put her hand on his leg. "Still, it wasn't anything we wouldn't expect from a newcomer who couldn't carve a space from the cars. Then he killed someone - a non-shifter - right on our ground. We couldn't let that stand; in all likelihood we'd get blamed for it and we weren't going to jail on his account." Another shrug. "Ain't much else to tell, we fought, he hurt Backtrack bad and I was too afraid to take her to medical - didn't know they had drones for this kind of thing - so I took her to the cave. You found us there."

Prowl nodded. "And once she was hidden, you went back and raided your own quarters for supplies."

"Yeah. Not like that cave is set up for habitation without getting some stuff."

"Or a medical facility." Prowl reviewed his notes taken when they'd first entered the were-tanks' home. "Are you also responsible for ransacking it?"

Backtrack beeped in surprise and alarm, while Brawl let out a surprised growl. "No. Didn't need to - I knew where everything was."

"Then someone came in after you did and damaged your things. Is it possible he came looking for you, or information on your whereabouts?"

Brawl hissed, steam released somewhere in his body to make the very angry sound. "Yes," Backtrack answered weakly. She had a soft, pleasant voice, with a vocal inflection that made her sound distracted - if it was her injuries or her normal vocal pattern, Prowl couldn't determine. "Yes, Brawl, he..." Her vocal processor trailed off in static and Brawl was immediately attentive to her.

"Ran him into a ravine and buried him," Brawl answered once Backtrack had calmed down a bit. "Last thing we'd heard of him was him howling bloody vengeance loud enough for the moons themselves to hear him. I don't imagine he calmed down one bit once the sun rose and he could dig himself out."

Red Alert nodded and Prowl brought up two of the images of their killer gotten from the witness to the latest murder. "One last thing. We've been operating under the deduction that the were-tank you described in your journal was the same one as our killer, based on the similarity of the description to the images and other descriptions we have of him, but in the interest in being absolutely sure, I would like to tell me if this is the mech you are referring to." He handed the datapad to Brawl and Backtrack.

Brawl growled out an affirmative, while Backtrack whispered, "Yes...that's him."

Prowl accepted the datapad back, "Thank you, if there is anything else we need, we will contact you. Swift repairs, Backtrack."

"Yeah, sure."

The two officers left. They were out of the medi-center and about to board the vehicle to return to headquarters to pick up the results of Red Alert's search and begin checking the places on the list, when Sunstreaker unaccountably growled. Loudly.

"Sunstrea-?"

"Sideswipe's fighting. He and Rhythm are defending from a full challenge for First by Barricade." The yellow were-car began to pace, obviously torn between racing off to join his Track for the conflict, or stay with Prowl as he'd been told to.

Prowl froze for just a second, before tactical programs came online and rescued him. Grabbing Red Alert, he ordered, "Go back and collect your list and and some back up. Scan those locations, but do not approach any of them until I can join you."

Red Alert opened his mouth to argue, then looked at Prowl and seemed to think better of it, then left. Prowl turned to Sunstreaker. "Don't transform until we are out of the city."

Sunstreaker growled, but instead of driving off, he ran, leading Prowl.

tbc

thanks for all of your support in making this comeback. i have good news for any of you still worried that i'll abandon it again ... based on how fast this chapter, and the next chapter are moving, and my original notes, there shouldn't be more than five or six chapters left to this thing - excluding the epilogues and side stories that i had written already when my computer broke.

also... apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes. i do read my chapters over about a dozen times before posting, but during my absence i lost my beta and i'm not perfect. so please, if you notice anything glaringly horrible about my spelling of grammar, please, point it out politely, and i'll change it when i can.

finally, i changed the category on this monster from "transformers/beast wars" to the transformers movie. when i started it, there wasn't separate movie category, and i just noticed it's addition a few weeks ago.


	22. Part TwentyOne

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. removing the eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance, more than the hints that are already there isn't making it into the story...

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part twenty-one**

"Glitch!"

A Track usually did not assemble fully except the nights of the double full, double new, and single full moons. Challenges took place under the double full moons. The next assembly where Barricade could legitimately challenge Rhythm for the Second's position was still almost a month away. If he challenged for Rhythm's rank before that, he'd likely lose the support of every car that right now backed him.

Which was why he wasn't challenging for the Second's rank.

He was claiming Redline's position, saying that if Rhythm did not want that rank, then no challenge should be needed. It was unfortunately true enough that he'd been able to gather support from enough of the Track to hold the position if he won.

Meaning that if Rhythm wanted the Iacon Track to stay under Rhythm's control - and Redline's, if he wasn't dead - Rhythm had to claim the position, and fight Barricade for it.

In the circle of watching were-cars, some in car-form but most in mech-form, Rhythm and Sideswipe faces Barricade and his potential enforcers. They were at a disadvantage, since Sunstreaker was still protecting Prowl, but hopefully he and Sideswipe were tougher and meaner than the three other were-cars.

Barricade and his two potential enforcers - Thunderclash and Windsheer - circled Rhythm and Sideswipe warily in car-form. Most dominance challenges took place in car-form, but the two defenders weren't quite willing to give up their claws yet. It made them slower than the cars, but it was easier to inflict damage.

Rhythm usually managed to take on dominance challenges with a rather playful attitude, but right now the uneven numbers and the stakes of losing - Barricade would attempt to turn the Track against all non-shapeshifters in the city if he won - had pushed him to join Sideswipe in the mentality of a gladiator fighting for his life. For all their usual viciousness, the three challengers were intimidated by what they faced. But they hadn't backed down either.

"Glitch!" Sideswipe called again. "Kiss my skidplate, you stupid, slagging glitch-infested waste of processing, and after I'm done rearranging your processor, you can go fall into a trash compactor where you belong! And you! Windslag! You suck the afterburners of a cone-headed seeker, such is the quality of your suckage."

Rhythm was utterly silent, except the hum of his battle-ready systems. Sideswipe was trying to get one of them to attack. They didn't want to give up their defensive position at each other's backs until the three cars broke their positions to attack. The watching Track might be viewing it as a weak tactic, but that wouldn't matter if he and Sideswipe won. And if they lost, Rhythm didn't want it to be because they'd made an arrogant rookie-gladiator mistake.

"And Thundersquash! Did you actually service this myopic excuse for a modern metal sculpture's exhaust pipe to get in on this? 'Cause it obviously wasn't because of your size - or maybe it was." Sideswipe made a crude gesture with an armor panel on his wrist, where most models had their networking cables. "Funny, I don't see anything too impressive about you in that department..."

With an engine-growl, the green car lunged at Sideswipe, who, with a reckless "Whoop!", met the charge, smashing in the car's hood with his shoulder and flipping the car, so he landed on his roof on top of Windsheer. The two cars screeched, and Windsheer was trying to transform back, when Sideswipe leapt on top of the two cars, smashing the blue car beneath the his and Thundercrash's combined weight, and immediately set to ripping out the green car's undercarriage with a maniacal laugh.

At the same time that Sideswipe made his move, Rhythm dove for Barricade. Cannier than his two enforcers, the black and white car swerved to the side, avoiding the mech's attack completely. Ready, Rhythm, transformed long enough to put on a burst of speed and ram Barricade, half-flipping him in the process. Immediately he transformed again, taking the chance to tear at Barricade's rear axle before the car righted himself and gained the distance he needed to come at Rhythm again.

Another "Whoop!" told Rhythm that Sideswipe had fallen into the reckless fighting he and Sunstreaker had been famous for in the ring. A pair of screeches, a crash, and the red twin's laughter as bits of green and blue armor scattered everywhere told him he had his opponents well in hand.

The silver car dodged Barricade's charge, raking claws along his side panels as he did so - painful, but not disabling. Rhythm had been aiming for the fragger's tires. Rules of Kaonex were-car survival: if your opponent relies on his car-form, rip off the tires or break an axle, disabling that form and and trapping him in it, if your opponent relies on his mech-form ruin his legs so he couldn't move, and make fragging sure you don't fall into either category so you couldn't be so easily defeated.

Barricade managed to knock Rhythm down and rushed to run over Rhythm's legs. The silver were-car summersaulted out of the way, transforming as he did so. He ended up facing Barricade's side from less than four feet away, and he rammed the other car with all the acceleration her could build up in that small distance. Apparently it was enough to finally flip the car and with another lightning-fast transformation, Rhythm leaped, intending to break the exposed axle.

Smarter than he was arrogant, the black and white abandoned his car-form to take the silver's attack against the armored back of his mech-form. They crashed, rolling, kicking and clawing at each other.

Intent on his opponent and trusting Sideswipe to keep the two - mean and tough, granted, but hardly truly battle-hardened - enforcers away from them, Rhythm didn't consciously notice when a deep, reckless-sounding growl and a yellow blur joined Sideswipe in taking down his two opponents.

When said growling, cussing, yellow blur plowed into Barricade, knocking him from atop Rhythm and making both combatants howl in pain as the armor plate Barricade had been clawing at and the energon line Rhythm had managed to get a hold on to both got ripped out as they were forced apart.

It took all of a second for Rhythm to recover his balance, stand, and whirl on Barricade. Then stop. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were gleefully holding the black and white in a position of capture and surrender. Shaking himself out of his combat processor settings, noticing as he did so the mostly slagged piles of metal that were Thunderclash and Windsheer. He swept his sensors around the area - Sunstreaker was supposed to be with Prowl - and found the officer waiting a polite distance for a non-shifter away from the assembly of were-cars.

He turned his attention back to Barricade, being held down by the twins.

"Submit."

Barricade only growled and struggled. "You're a soft-sparked, weak retrorat! You'll have us scraping and bowing to the one-forms like _slaves_." He attempted to yank his arm free. "Your disgusting _attachment_ to them will ruin this Track. We are above them, weak, slow, _clawless_ and you'd have us be just like them or _worse!_"

Rhythm advanced again, growling louder. "I said _submit._"

"Never! Never again, glitch!"

Back to his senses enough to hope Prowl didn't arrest him over it, Rhythm leapt at Barricade again with a snarl, already ripping and tearing the other were-car's armor plates and wiring off as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker let go and backed away. Barricade fought to escape the other mech, but he'd been in too vulnerable a position this time to do so effectively, leaving him at Rhythm's mercy.

Rhythm wasn't feeling very merciful, but even if Prowl was willing to ignore being witness to this assault because he understood how Track politics worked - and Rhythm was hardly sure Prowl would be willing to do any such thing - he didn't think the officer would ignore a killing.

Finally, when Barricade couldn't take anymore damage without being offlined, Rhythm backed away from the barely functioning pile of metal. He turned to the watching crowd of were-cars. "You and you," he pointed out two of Barricades strongest supporters over the last few days, "carry him. I want you five, and any other were-car that agrees with him _out_ of my territory by dawn."

The two indicated were-cars shuffled forward, picked the nearly scrapped Barricade up, and they, Barricade's enforcers, and about a dozen other mechs left the junk ravine they'd gathered in.

Only once they were well gone and out of scanning, did Rhythm turn his attention to Prowl.

He wasn't running, screaming, or even looking very afraid at all. There were still a dozen or so were-cars in car-form milling around, not to mention however much of the fight he'd witnessed ... Rhythm had to delete a full four attempts by his processor attempting to say _Why the _slag_ aren't you screaming?_ before he could moderate the question into something a bit more friendly sounding. "Surprised you managed to follow Sunstreaker this far, Prowl."

A few were-cars fidgeted restlessly, nervous about what their First - and Primus _damnit_ Rhythm did not want to be First - was going to do about the one-form in their midst. They all recognized Prowl, of course, from Redline and Rhythm's earlier orders to be polite and cooperate with the officer, but it was a long way from that to allowing him attend a Track assembly.

Frankly, right now, Rhythm didn't care about the rules. If Prowl was managing to stand here without panicking - and more than a dozen cars, plus a shapeshifter battle was quite a bit different that a single car alone - then after all the help the officer had given Rhythm, and the help he'd accepted in return from Rhythm, he'd earned the right to be here.

That didn't mean he didn't wonder how the slag it was possible.

But Prowl either misunderstood the question, or was disinclined to answer. "Sunstreaker ran rather than drive, and, as the officer that gets sent to deal with the shapeshifters of my own city seventy-three percent of the time, I took the opportunity to upgrade my speed when it was made available."

Yeah, sure... he'd had to to keep up with Sunstreaker. Prowl was the same physical model as Bluestreak, and while Bluestreak's car-form was decently fast - once the mech learned to fight and race properly, he was fast enough to possibly win Third - he wasn't a match for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's model when running.

Still a bit twitchy from the fight though, Rhythm was not about to let the evasive answer slide and began to stalk forward. Prowl held his ground without any sign of fear, though if Rhythm decided to get violent, the time between his last transformation into car-form was a short enough time ago that he was still an infection risk. The Track scrambled out of his way, leaving no obstacle between them.

"Prowl-" The growl was interrupted by a broadcast, over a police channel, but without encryption.

"Weapons fire! Officer down!" Red Alert's voice. "Repeat: Officer down! At least one were-tank spotted. Backup! Now!"

Both Rhythm and Prowl triangulated the signal before Red Alert could finish broadcasting his location. Prowl turned, ready to sprint back to the city.

Rhythm stopped him - upgraded running speed or not, he'd never make it back to Iacon fast enough. "Prowl - do you trust me?"

Prowl looked him in the optics. "Logically I shouldn't, but yes."

With a reckless grin, Rhythm replied, "Good, then hang on." And with that his only warning, he pulled the black and white closer and erupted into a flurry of transforming parts, landing with all four wheels on the ground and Prowl clinging to the top of him.

Rhythm was the fastest were-car in Iacon. Right then, he proved it.

tbc

as before, i've lost my beta since my computer crashed. i have, however picked up a betta, though the fishy isn't really good at spotting mistakes. he tries, but i'm afraid he's just not able. so please be nice to my betta (and me) for any mistakes you spot.

so...next chapter's actually written already and i'm furiously typing out the one after that. they'll be posted as soon as i get around to proofreading them.


	23. Part TwentyTwo

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. removing the eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance, more than the hints that are already there isn't making it into the story...

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part twenty-two**

"Weapons fire! Officer down!" Red Alert managed to remember not to swear over the police channel as he paused to return fire on the were-tank that was somehow *shooting* at him while in tank form. He wasn't sure the section of wall he'd dragged Terradive behind would hold up much longer. "Repeat: Officer down! At least one were-tank spotted. Backup! Now!"

The were-tank rumbled it's engine, and as best and fast as he could, he gathered Terradive up and bolted for another scrap of cover -

- Just as the tank dealt with the wall by running over it.

Red Alert cursed and dove when the tank's impossible gun swiveled to track him. Terradive clattered to the ground, and emitted a soft whining sound - not conscious, but not entirely unconscious. Good. Maybe when they ran again, he wouldn't be entirely dead weight. Red Alert shot the tank again, scoring hits in the thick armor. The tank howled, and started shifting. Red alert wasted no time in grabbing Terradive and bolting for the warehouse that was the closest substantial building.

Terradive still wasn't conscious, but at least one of his movement subroutines was active - he stumbled alongside Red Alert as they passed though the entrance of the warehouse and dived behind some cargo boxes.

Given the moment's respite, he activated his comm to call for backup again, but stopped with a surprised squawk.

"I could say the same about you," the scuffed, tired red mech snarked grumpily at the police-mech. He had a tired, out-of-it look in his optics that was characteristic of most mechs who'd just finished, or those few who could carry on a conversation in the midst of, hacking simple computers. Like locks.

Redline. Red Alert recognized him from the information Rhythm had given the police mechs when the Track First had disappeared.

They all flinched as the door was blown in by the were-tank's gun. Red Alert cursed again. The red mech's optics shut of for a moment, and the police mech dimly heard a *click* from Redline's direction, and turned just enough to see him getting up, closing up the bit of armor that hid his networking cable and unkinking cables in his wrists that had being pulled out of alignment by the long imprisonment.

The were-tank growled again. Searching for them.

"Stay here," Redline's voice was softer, gentler, than Red Alert had expected of a mech that could keep Rhythm and his ilk in line, but it was still full of steely command. "And make sure your backup doesn't shoot the red were-car."

With that Redline vaulted over the boxes and Red Alert heard a resounding crash of metal, the sound of the tank's weapon going off, the shriek of tearing metal, the shorter transformation of a were-car and the growl of the smaller engine... Red Alert didn't dare look over the boxes to attempt to get a shot off. He might panic and hit Redline, like he nearly had with Brawl and Sunstreaker.

Instead he finished activating his comm, "Situation update: one were-tank and -"

888

"- one were-car! Were-car status: ally. Do not, repeat, do *not* shoot, unless you have a clear shot at the tank. Officer is still down and backup is still requested. Again, were-car status: ally." The location tag was updated to indicate that Red Alert was now inside the warehouse.

Prowl registered the words, and the subsequent confirmation of drone combat and medical units being sent. He sent his own location and ETA, adding that he was being accompanied by three, possibly more, allied were-cars.

Rhythm and the two enforcers slowed slightly as they neared Red Alert's location. They could now clearly hear the growls of two shapeshifters fighting.

Suddenly, Bluestreak, who had been trailing along somewhere behind Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, made a cry that may or may not have been produced by his vocals and whipped around to crash into Rhythm, sending both cars, and Prowl sliding sideways.

In the split second it took for him to tumble off of Rhythm's roof, Prowl's logic simulator had nearly stalled out trying to figure out why *Bluestreak* would attack Rhythm. Then a roar overhead and a concussive blast sent all three of them tumbling and Prowl realized Bluestreak had saved them from being where whatever-that-was had hit the ground. Based on the blast, it was a concussive bomb of some kind, and had had a ninety-two percent chance of off lining both Rhythm and himself had it hit them. Bluestreak had saved them both.

Rhythm transformed, obviously having figured the same thing out because he was looking to the sky, not at the lower-ranked car. He spotted the were-jet turning to make another pass. "How's Starcream carryin' bombs?"

Nevermind why. Irrelevant question for the moment. Prowl hefted his gun, preparing to take down the jet with it. Only a forty-three percent chance of hitting him, given that he also had to watch for the launch of another concussion bomb. And an only thirty-four percent chance the shot would take him down, if Prowl did hit.

Rhythm put a hand on his gun, lowering it. Prowl almost had a chance to ask why, but the silver were-car was already giving orders to his Track. "Blue - git y'self under cover. Sunny, Sides -" the next word was a Kaonex construction, and all Prowl recognized was the root words _jet_ and _team_. "C'mon Prowl, Red Alert don' have time f'r us t' mess around."

The cars split up, Rhythm running to the warehouse, obviously expecting Prowl to follow, while the two enforcers _whooped_ as they raced to intercept the jet, engines snarling. He didn't see where Bluestreak went, but given the lower-ranked car's behavior up to this point, there was a ninety-eight percent chance he was hiding like Rhythm had told him to.

Prowl followed Rhythm. He calculated, based on what he knew about the differences between were-cars and were-jets, that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had a twenty-nine percent chance of actually fighting Starscream, but the cars seemed to think they knew something he didn't. And he trusted Rhythm.

The growling engines grew louder, until the fight between the were-tank - their suspect, Prowl's logic simulator instantly matched the paint, build and markings to the image he carried in his processor - and the car spilled out of the demolished door of the warehouse and into the street again.

Rhythm yelled something, a Kaonex name, with the root _defender_. Prowl worried for zero point zero seven seconds that Rhythm might ignore the crisis in favor of the strange were-car, but then recognized the tone of his voice as recognition, not challenge, matched the car to the blurry image he'd seen his first day in Iacon, and concluded that that had been Redline's name in Kaon. "Find Red Alert."

With that Rhythm was already transforming to speed off and join his trackmate in the fight.

Prowl moved into the warehouse, where the location tag on Red Alert's last transmission had indicated he was. The space was dusty, the same dust that had led Red Alert to search here in the first place. Another concussive bomb hit the ground, sending that dust drifting down. A chitter-squeel was heard as the first police-drone joined the fight between the two were-cars and the were-tank. Automatically his logic simulated placed both sounds on his internal map of the area.

He deleted an attempt to calculate the odds that that concussive blast had killed either of the enforcers, but his processor spit out the statistic anyway - eighty-six percent chance of killing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, with the percentage being four percent higher for killing just one of them. Whether the odds were correct or not, he was going to panic over those numbers later.

He rounded a pile of cargo containers and came optic-to-barrel to Red Alert's police-issue weapon, which was quickly lowered as the other officer recognized Prowl. "Status?"

"Terradive is alive, but unconscious. Exact status unknown. The were-tank has some unknown weapon. And I've been crouched here since Redline engaged the were-tank, trying not to look over the wall and *shoot him*." Red Alert's voice was high with fear and stress, but he was handling it better than some officers Prowl had worked with had. Better than he had previously with Brawl and Sunstreaker.

"Acknowledged. The first police drone has made it on sight," useless things, only thirteen percent effective against most shapeshifters except in groups of seventeen or higher, but they were unsparked, "and the medi-drones should be here shortly."

Red Alert started to respond, but was cut off by another set of crashes, closer than the brawl between the shapeshifters Prowl was still tracking audibly outside. These sounded like something kicking another door in. "Find the research and get moving," Barricade. Rhythm must have been feeling more merciful than Prowl had thought he had. "Leave the police-mechs to me."

A clear threat. He transmitted a 'stay' command to Red Alert. Silently Red Alert nodded, Prowl smoothly rose and stalked silently around the crates again.

Four were-cars, renegades, with stated lethal intent. All his own allies rendered either irrelevant by other combats, or of diminished usefulness by fear...

Prowl shot to kill.

Three were-cars tumbled out of the way, including Barricade. One didn't. His systems screeched as they smoked from the shot and he fell over, a lifeless pile of parts.

Barricade snarled, sending one of the others off to it's assigned task, while he and the other car - Prowl matched him to one of the black and white's chosen enforcers during the challenge - bounded toward him.

Prowl noted signs of recent hasty repairs on both mechs as he got off two more shots before he had to move, running to a nearby table and tilting it up to provide cover. Barricade's enforcer whipped around the obstacle in car-form. Prowl rolled out of the way and shot, angles, velocities, and predictions running through his logic simulator to his targeting.

The shot hit home, blasting the car - nearly flipping him due to the range - and tearing through his engine. He sagged, wheels spinning for a moment longer due to sheer momentum, then went completely still.

But Prowl had lost track of Barricade. The black and white were-car tackled him from the side. They tumbled, Prowl managed to keep hold of his weapon and tried to block the car in his attacks as best he could, then managed to twist, kicking the car off of him and away.

He probably shouldn't have been able to, but Barricade was injured and that made the difference. Prowl lined up his shot again.

"Pathetic one-formed *glitch*," Barricade snarled, "I should -"

Just *what* Barricade thought he "should" was lost as another hole was blown in the side of the warehouse - chance of building collapse now seventy-two percent and rising - this time by Starscream, still in jet-form crashing into the warehouse. Prowl braced himself for a concussive bomb - only seven percent chance of surviving that and ten percent chance that Red Alert and Terradive would survive it when the blast brought the building down - but the were-jet only transformed, dove in to grab Barricade, then flew out of the building, putting another hole in the roof as he did so.

Any other mech would have taken a moment to take in what had happened, but Prowl wasn't going to question the extremely low percentages being taken out of the equation. There was however now a eighty-four percent chance of the building collapsing, and the three police-mechs needed to get out of here. He returned to Red Alert.

"We need to get out of here." Citing the percentages would take two point three seconds too long, so it was a good thing Red Alert didn't ask. The two of them lifted the injured Terradive and started running.

They made it to far enough away, according to Prowl's logic simulator, to survive if the building came down, and he settled Red Alert and Terradive back under cover - no sense in making them a target for the were-jet that might still be up there.

Approaching were-car engines alerted Prowl to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Later he would admire the perfection of their movements, but now, he just noted that they sped off past him without an acknowledgment. Snarls and crashes - the fight with the were-tank was still going on. Prowl followed.

He got there just in time to see Redline get bucked off the were-tank, taking his primary energon line with him as he went flying. The tank managed one more step, then fell, dead.

Everyone stood, silent except for the growl of combat-ready systems for a moment, then the roar of a were-jet making a pass overhead sent everyone scrambling for cover.

With a blast, the were-tank's corpse exploded. Prowl shielded his eyes, debris whipping against sensitive sensor-panels, sending static signals to his processor.

When he looked up, it wasn't Starscream he saw. Instead there was a large, strange silver were-jet with red optics glaring at them. "Pathetic. Shapeshifters are meant to *rule* the world. They *will* rule Cybertron, and I will rule them and no shapeshifter traitors will stop me," he snarled. His optics focused on Redline, "And you're the *worst*." His arms came together, shifting and transforming in a way Prowl hadn't thought was possible, until a lance of light spilled out skewering Redline clean through.

Then the were-jet was transforming again, taking off, dodging Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as they lunged at him, ready to kill.

Rhythm howled.

tbc

i won't apologize for killing redline off. ever since that first frantic phone call to my friend describing this entire story to him two years ago, it was going to end like this. one more chapter and an epilogue coming soon.


	24. Part TwentyThree

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. removing the eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance, more than the hints that are already there isn't making it into the story...

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: part twenty-three**

Hour's later, Prowl read the addendum to his and Red Alert's reports on everything that had happened at the warehouse from his assigned medical berth.

_Presence of concussion bombs and laser weaponry in shapeshifter physiology, confirmed by eyewitness of three officers. Explanation - Inconclusive._

_Suspect in ongoing case, reference file 9866573421 re: serial murders: designation unknown, confirmed terminated. Case closed._

_Suspect in ongoing case, reference file 9866573421-2 re: assault with intent to terminate Iacon citizens Backtrack and Brawl, assault on police forces by proxy: designation unknown, confirmed terminated. Case closed._

_Suspect in ongoing case, reference file 9866573421-3 re: kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of Iacon citizen Redline: designation unknown, confirmed terminated. Case closed._

_Suspects in new case, reference file 9866573426 re: assault on police personnel, property damage, endangerment, unlawful self-modification: ID Barricade, confirmed, location unknown. ID Refute, confirmed, location unknown. ID Starscream, confirmed, location unknown. ID Melanthios, tentative, location unknown. ID Thunderclash, confirmed, terminated. ID Windsheer, confirmed, terminated._

_Suspect in new case, reference file 9866573426-2 re: attack and infliction of shapeshifter virus on (designation and citizenship deleted for privacy): ID Barricade, confirmed, location unknown._

_Suspect in new case, reference file 9866573426-3 re: murder of Iacon citizen Redline: ID Melanthios, tentative, location unknown._

Finding nothing he didn't already know, Prowl put the data pad aside. Orion had already closed his bar, temporarily everyone hoped. Prowl wouldn't be surprised to find that the various shapeshifter groups had already started getting rowdy with each other for lack of their neutral area. Really, this city had needed Ironhide and Melanthios to keep the peace, but with Melanthios having disappeared, and apparently a criminal... Prowl shrugged minutely, careful not to jostle his injuries. Iacon was not his responsibility.

Soon neither would Praxis be. He'd already sent in his resignation the Praxan Police Department. "Conflict of Interest" were not three words Prowl wanted to be attached to his file there. He didn't know where he was going to go when he was released from the med center, but he knew it wasn't going to be back to Praxis.

The door hissed open and Sideswipe walked in without so much as a tap on the doorframe, much less permission. Not that Prowl was going to try and reprimand the enforcer for it. He had the right. Instead he waited patiently for Sideswipe to speak.

"There's a motorcycle on the med staff. She lets us know whenever someone comes in who tests positive. Who tagged you?"

Ah, that answered how Sideswipe had known to come here. And why he was here. But Prowl wasn't sure he wanted to join the Iacon Track.

"Barricade." And he knew that the Praxis Track always believed that the viruses ran in lines from infector to infected. He was the prodigy of their enemy, and he didn't want to cause a conflict within the track for it. "I'll be out of your territory by morning."

Sideswipe snorted. He stepped forward, deliberately aggressive, optics averted, submissive. A set of mixed signals that had very much confused Prowl when he'd first met Sideswipe, but now were-car instincts - instincts he hadn't had then - dutifully informed him that it was flirtatious, and so exaggerated that Sideswipe couldn't be being anything but sarcastic about it. "What if we don't want you to leave?" he purred.

This time Prowl did not flare out his sensor-panels aggressively. Sideswipe literally outranked him now, and making that aggressive a gesture would be overreacting to the obvious teasing. "If I stayed here, I would want to remain a police-mech, and I doubt Nightbeat would accept a were-car, especially a low-ranked one, who could be convinced to overlook things in favor of his Track."

Sideswipe waved that off. "So find a different job. There's lots of them that don't have 'conflict of interest' stamped all over them. And who says you'd be low-ranked?"

"That is where new Track members begin when they enter a Track."

"Yeah," right then, Prowl noticed that he *wasn't* currently groveling and practically begging for Sideswipe to spare him. He tentatively examined the new programmed behaviors and, yes, he *should* be, except that, with the exception of the sarcastic flirting, Sideswipe was being extremely neutral with him. "Right now though the Track's in chaos. Redline's dead," Prowl heard the grief despite the red were-car's attempt to hide it, "Barricade is exiled, and Rhythm's disappeared. Not that I blame him. He and Redline were too tight that I'd think he'd go on for long without him. Right now *Bluestreak* is holding First by dint of living with us, and he's frantically swearing he saw you make a dominance gesture with Rhythm a few days ago and didn't get your arm ripped off. Considering the confusion, it's enough, if you're willing."

Prowl tried to analyze that but even with his new instincts helping him, he couldn't figure out what Sideswipe was asking if he was 'willing' to do. "What?"

Sideswipe snorted. "Bluestreak, Sunstreaker and I are willing to back you in a bid for First. And since there's no one but Bluestreak in between you and it, it'll pass, if you're willing to stay."

Prowl reset his optics, then his audios. "Why make that exception for me?" Why, when doing exactly that was how Barricade had caused so much trouble in the first place?

"You're fast - you kept up with Sunstreaker. Running, yes," Sideswipe spoke over Prowl's attempt to correct the were-car - the *other* were-car, "but you're the same model as Bluestreak, who's naturally fast, and you're upgraded for speed. We'll help you get the skill before everything settles down enough that someone'll challenge you for real. You've got the nerve to hold up against us, the motorcycles, the police... whoever... without running screaming. We think you can lead. None of the rest of us can." Sideswipe grinned. "'Sides, if you stay, I know Red Alert and Nightbeat were pulling some strings to get you a new job. Not police work, true, but still pretty good. Or so I'm told.

"Think about it Prowl. But not too long."

With that Sideswipe bowed - short and somewhat sarcastically, just enough to get Prowl's new instincts humming that he might be superior to the other were-car - as he left the room. Leaving Prowl to brood.

He wondered what sort of job Red Alert and Nightbeat had thought would be appropriate for a life-long police-mech for whom police work was no longer an option.

The data pad Prowl still held _dinged!_ for attention, showing a new message in his message box.

From Sentinel Prime's office?

.

epilogue coming...

yes i know that's a kinda sucky-vague ending to a story, but that really is the end. this story was never supposed to be an epic of the war, it was just supposed to describe the beginning of it as it would have been in this world. i do have a number of short stories that address specific points of interest in the war and after landing on earth, but they couldn't be incorporated into this.


	25. Epilogue

summary: 2007 movieverse. mostly pre-earth: some archetypes are universal. some legends transcend species. and sometimes there's nothing left to do but out race the moons.

disclaimer: names, places and concepts that are recognizable aren't mine. since i shamelessly raided a list of mini-cons from armada for names, i don't even own the oc's. i do own the plot, though.

warnings: battle violence. cussing. lots of weirdness. removing the eventual male pronoun robot / male pronoun robot romance, more than the hints that are already there isn't making it into the story...

**Were-Cars of Cybertron: epilogue**

The movie had been over for an hour and a half

"After that...well, Optimus showed y' the highlights in that nifty holo when we all first met. War...destruction...killing th' planet...sendin' th' Allspark into space just for it to crash land here. If you want too many of the details, you're gonna have to ask Ironhide or Prime, 'cause there aren't that many surviving records and neither of them have been inclined to share with me."

Mikaela brought herself out of the listening trance she'd fallen into and tried to wrap her head around the whole thing. "So you guys aren't just alien robots ... you're alien, robot _werewolves!_" With gleeful sound she let herself fall off the couch laughing.

The _thump!_ woke Bumblebee, who jerked out of recharge, beeping in protest, then after a quick scan of the room, momentarily sunk low on his tires before perking up. "Mikaela, are you alright?"

The girl only nodded and waved him off to finish her fit of giggles. She'd notice how 'Bee'd done that sinking thing occasionally in the presence of the other Autobots, but hadn't thought about it before. Now she knew - Jazz wasn't just Optimus's second in command militarily, he was Track Second. Of course 'Bee submitted to him, just ... like...a...a... an _omega wolf._ She burst out laughing again.

Dimly she heard 'Bee make an inquiring noise to Jazz, who responded with a trill of sound in the Transformers' - _omg, werewolves!_ - own language. 'Bee did something that looked a lot like a car shrugging, and settled back down to recharge.

"Mikaela?" Sam was down next to her, but all she could respond with was more giggles. Finally he gave up and went to settle back down on Bumblebee's hood. "Any idea what's up with her, 'Bee?"

Mikaela heard opening notes for Werewolves of London blast out of 'Bee's speakers in all their bouncy, rocky glory and she set off in another peel of laughter just as the song got to it's first words: _"I saw a werewolf with a chinese menu in his hand."_

Sam just continued to look confused.

**End**.

the first of the short stories'll be posted in a few minutes. if you've got any outstanding questions about the were-cars universe, check out those stories. i wrote many of them originally in response to questions reviewers had, or ones i knew *should* be answered, but couldn't fit into this story.

btw... i was informed that some people had trouble finding this when i changed the page it appeared on last update. i've changed it back to being in the transformer cartoon sections and will switch it to the movie section in a week or so. the side stories will be posted in the movie section.


End file.
